


Gathering Storm

by ChelseaDear



Series: Tides of War [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Anal Sex, Angst, Cunnilingus, F/F, Force-Sensitive Din Djarin, Found Family, Identity Issues, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Multi, Paz still isn't allowed near the speeders, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Rimming, Rough Sex, The Armorer gets a name, Unresolved Trauma, Wall Sex, War, a gun's a gun, a ship's a ship, a vehicle's a wreck, non-graphic descriptions of violence against children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:01:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 45,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29343999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChelseaDear/pseuds/ChelseaDear
Summary: What started out as Din trying to find a way to anchor himself to something - someone- familiar has turned to needing to raise an army again, this one much bigger than the last.Time is not an ally in this, but Din? Din's almost too familiar with getting impossible things done.Explicit Chapters: 13, 15, 20
Relationships: Cara Dune/Omera, Cobb Vanth/Paz Vizsla, Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth, Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth/Paz Vizsla, Din Djarin/Paz Vizsla, The Armorer/Peli
Series: Tides of War [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155209
Comments: 209
Kudos: 66





	1. Survive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They thought they knew what it meant to lose everything. Perhaps later, should they survive this, they would be thankful they still had things, had places, had _people_ to fight for, grateful they had connections that kept them tethered to their lives.
> 
> But not today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whooboi here. We. Go!

There was only one place they could have gone, really, one place where, when the world as they thought they understood it was falling apart _again_ and they needed the time and space to lick their new wounds and try to keep the old wounds from incurring even more damage. Even if they'd last left it under the same circumstances they were in now. They'd hoarded their worries about the foundation shattering while they ran away and called it destiny in a little box in their heads and never spoke of them lest they breath the very idea of losing everything _again_ into being.

Despite their trespasses, they went home.

They'd tell the others later, once they'd gotten home, once they'd told everyone what was going on, made sure the covert – _**their covert**_ – was kept in the light, however searing the light might be.

They took Cobb with them, of course, kept him close and made him a part of their family, let him see their pain and their fears, let him mourn something not yet lost with their people – Cobb's people, too now, even if they'd not been able to talk about that yet – and let their love for him be seen for what it was.

There were no accusations this time, no demanding to know why they'd dared to come back, no anger.

Just fear.

It was a fear accompanied by care though, a fear ushered by a sense of shaken community and a desire to understand, and it was these things that made the fear feel like a type of _love_ rather than something that might strip them of what they'd managed to hold onto.

“The others,” someone asked, “Our Armorer, our beroya, are they alive?”

“Yes,” it was Cobb who told them, Cobb who this group of unmoored Mandalorians looked to with trust instead of disdain as he told them of their currently absent members, “They're with Peli, our mechanic, on an uninhabited planet for now. We'll have to call them to let them know we're here. They'll need to get fuel and may want to throw any pursuers off their scent, but they will be here, too, as soon as they can be.”

“You seem certain,” someone else said.

“Despite everything,” Cobb seemed to be steeling himself for the impact of his own words, “Despite the lies and the false histories and dogma, she – _your_ Armorer – would still sacrifice everything for you lot if it came down to that. Even if you hate her, even if you do not see how she fits into whatever you – whatever we – are all becoming, she'd give everything she has left for this covert,” Cobb paused to breathe, “She will be here.”

His answer seemed to settle some of the dust their arrival had kicked up around everyone's spirits. There was a silence, then, a thing that seemed to weave itself around everyone, a thing that wanted to bring some order to the chaos their fears had given life to.

“What do we do?” another voice asked.

Everyone looked at Din, at their King, looked _**to their Mand'alor**_ for his answer, his direction. A small sea of bare faces and helmets alike focused on Din with such intensity that Din was in a spotlight now, unable to escape or bow out or delegate.

It was time to embrace who the universe had made him into.

“For now,” Din summoned all the courage and daring and protective spirit he could find within his mentally exhausted, lost self and pulled it into his lungs such that it might power his words, “we start laying out a timeline of what's happened, see if there are any events we're missing that might help us understand how deep this goes. When the others – Cara and Omera and Winta will be here, too – get here, they add what they can to the timeline, we start pulling our knowledge base together, see if we can't get some tech that isn't listening hub up and running to help us along,” Din took a deep breath, “After that, and while I realize there are more hopeful things to say right now I do not think they would be the most likely outcome, after the knowing stops and the acting starts, odds are it's not going to be something we do once like a skirmish or a coup or a hunt and it's over.”

“War, then?” someone asked, someone older, someone who knew war, had seen war come and strip their lives away and leave them behind.

“I don't know,” Din was going with honesty, even if it didn't make him look the best, “If it is war, I'll need to raise an army.”

“You've already done that once,” Paz was almost too quick to say, “A small one, but a strong one, strong enough to overtake an Imperial ship.”

“You do what you set out to do,” the same voice that asked if they were facing down a war said, “You always have, sir.”

Cobb made a huffing sound, but it was a fond thing, a thing that was thankful someone saw how the universe shapes itself around Din rather than the other way around.

“We're survivors, all of us,” Din said, “And secrecy is no longer our strength. I know we lost too much to shoulder, but we're _Mandalorians._ We are made for hardship and fighting and surviving and no matter what's coming, no matter what's been chasing me, what almost killed Nati,” there was a shocked ripple that unsettled something that had only recently been settled, “We will do what we need to do.

“We will survive.”

There was another thing unsettled, then, but this one was rooted much deeper. It was a thing that had been settled for a long, long time, the feeling of a people whose culture and legacy and families had been stripped from them realizing they _can_ revitalize their people, realizing that they are enough of them to regroup and do exactly what their King commanded.

They would survive.

–

Winta said good-bye to her friends as her mothers packed their things.

“I'm going to miss you,” one of her friends said.

“You're so lucky you get to go up in space!” another said, “Space sounds so cool!!”

“It is!!” Winta told them, “It's scary sometimes and almost everyone is a soldier but the stars are so much bigger up there.”

“Can one of them stay?” yet another friend pointed at Peli's droids, “I don't want you _all_ to go!”

“They have to go back to Peli,” Winta told them, “I don't think Peli can do her work if they're here.”

“Why would anyone _work_ in space?” her second friend asked.

“I wish I knew,” Winta sounded absolutely exasperated, “There's so much to see and do why would anyone pick _work_ over that?”

“Grown-ups are weird,” her first friend scrunched up their nose.

“So weird,” Winta agreed, “When I come back next time I'm going to _beg_ Peli to let them stay with us because I love them.”

“I love them, too!” her third friend said, “I hope she says yes!”

“Winta!” Cara called from their hut's doorway, “Five minutes!”

“Okay!” Called back before she turned back to her friends and said, “I'll think of you every day.”

“We'll think of you, too!” another friend promised her, “Have fun!”

They laughed, then, and started wrestling the droids, one final bout of tumbling around together until the next time Winta came home.

–

Peli had searched every inch of the ship – inside and out – to make sure there weren't any trackers on it.

She had, briefly, hung upside-down by her ankles trying to examine the underside of one of the wings because she did not realize how slippery what she thought good hand hold spots would be.

“How do you get this thing serviced?” she asked Nati as soon as she was rightside up again.

“I don't,” Nati told her, “I've only had it a few months and know nothing about ships.”

“So wait, how'd you learn to fly it?” Peli asked.

“A lot of trial and error,” Nati had decided honesty was the best policy, “Taking off was the easy part, it was landing that took some practice.”

“I see,” Peli said it like she meant the opposite, “How'd you do it?”

“Well,” Nati blushed, embarrassed by her earliest attempts, “let's just say there's a lot of rock formations that are a _little_ flatter and shorter than they'd been for, oh, probably thousands upon thousands of years.”

“Have to say, kid, I'm impressed,” Peli told her, “You learn fast and you rely on yourself first.”

Nati had not responded, just stood there looking at the ground.

When Peli finished examining the ship's exterior, she skipped the last few rungs on the side ladder to kind of let herself bounce closet to Nati.

“Good head on your shoulders,” Peli put one hand on Nati's shoulder, “and you're not afraid to learn.”

“People get afraid to learn?” Nati asked.

“Oh, all the time!” Peli started walking Nati back into the ship, “They decide all the things they know is exactly what the world is and every time something new comes along, they ignore it and wait for it to move on because it doesn't belong to them.”

“Wow,” Nati stopped walking for a second to take it in, “That's...really sad, actually.”

“Isn't it just?” the corners of Peli's mouth twitched into a frown for a fraction of a moment, “Come on, we've got work to do.”

“I am really liking this we thing,” Nati told her, “I know the covert's supposed to always be there for each other no matter the cost, but everyone is so _afraid_ now. Have been since. Since...”

“And you feel alone as their new beroya,” Peli guessed, “Like they're looking to you _as_ the support without asking themselves if you also _need_ support.”

“How did you know?” Nati's jaw went slack.

“I'm good at reading people,” Peli said it like it was obvious, “Lifetime of experience, it's paid off, honestly.”

“I do need support,” Nati's shoulders dropped.

“We're here,” Peli said.

“You're like an older sister I never had,” Nati's eyes were wide and glassy like she might start crying.

“And I'll look after you like a big sis should, eh?” Peli gave Nati a quick hug.

When she stepped back, Nati's eyes were still glassy but she was _smiling,_ a nervous thing that carried hope about it.

“Okay,” Nati exhaled like it would center her, “Yes, right, the thing you were doing. Tracker status. What's our tracker status?”

“No trackers,” Peli told her, “Could be any number of reasons why they didn't opt to track your ship, but what matters is we're going to be able to refuel her without worrying someone's going to drop out of the sky and turn refueling into a nightmare.”

“Okay, great, never getting that mental image out of my head, probably a good thing,” Nati was rambling, “Armorer, how are the ships systems looking?”

“Systems are all online and up to date,” the Armorer told her, “The sonic's on the fritz but you probably knew that.”

Nati shuddered.

“That thing commits acts of violence in the middle of a 'fresher,” Nati told them, “I recommend just finding a river or pond or something if you're looking to get clean.”

“My ship has showers,” Peli told her, “Once it gets wherever we're going, you're more than welcome to use it.”

Nati's entire face lit up and Peli chuckled.

“Peli,” the Armorer said, “get us in the air and find a place to refuel. Nati, helmet lessons, come on.”

“They come with _lessons??_ ” Nati asked, “Oh man I've been doing the trial-and error method maybe I won't shoot Din or Paz again with some lessons oh shit sorry those were not supposed to be outside thoughts.”

Peli managed not to laugh; objectively that was hilarious, but Nati was so clearly charging ahead despite being terrified and Peli couldn't risk making her feel patronized.

Peli settled into the pilot's chair and started getting ready for take off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part one broke 500 kudos and 900 comments and I cannot tell y'all how much your support has been getting me through everything.
> 
> For you, dear readers, I will promise an even more engrossing part two.


	2. Retrieval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The Subtle_ needs to be returned to her ~~technical~~ rightful owner.
> 
> Meanwhile, in another part of the universe, Nati has stories to tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I know this is late but had a DAY yesterday.

Getting a ride off the planet was the easy part; there were dozens of ships coming and going every day, now, these newcomers to a planet that had spent generations being forgotten.

Getting a ride off the planet going in the right direction without explicitly saying _We need to get to Lothal_ was proving to be the tricky part.

“Wonder what resource they found here,” Cara said under her breath as they walked away from the fifth pilot going the wrong way.

“Booze,” Omera snorted, “Timber and booze.”

“I'm sorry,” Cara told her.

“Not your fault,” Omera squeezed her hand.

“Nor is it yours,” Cara returned the squeeze. Something dark passed behind Omera's eyes, the shadow of the moment her dash for medical supplies to save the lives of people who only wanted to defend their homes had brought these _colonizers_ who called themselves rescuers to the only planet she'd ever known.

Winta, sensing something had gone awry, ran the few steps between her and her mother and tugged on Omera's wrist. Omera put her arm around Winta and held her against her side.

“Can we go to the market?” Winta asked, “I want to go to the market.”

“We're at the market kiddo,” Cara told her.

“I mean the _big part_ ,” Winta whined, “This is just the outside!”

Omera and Cara exchanged a look and Cara said, “For a little bit, but you stay right next to one of us at all times, okay?”

“I promise!” Winta's face lit up.

“Come on,” Cara told her and Omera before turning back to the droids, “And you lot, stay close, got it?”

There was a chattering and Omera asked, “Do you speak droid?”

“Nope,” Cara told her.

“They said okay,” Winta told them.

“You speak droid?” Omera asked.

“Kind of,” Winta shrugged, “You figure out what different sounds mean after a while.”

Cara looked impressed; Omera looked proud.

Familiarity and companionship were languages of their own, after all, and a child who'd been raised in krill ponds and a handful of droids who by all rights should have been destroyed in the ruins of _their_ only home being able to understand each other was not the wildest thing they'd encountered on this venture.

–

“Alright,” the Armorer said as they dropped out of hyperspace, “we should be on the planet's surface and ready to refuel in a matter of minutes.”

“I'll go,” Peli said.

“No,” Nati put an arm up like it would honestly stop Peli if Peli tried to overpower her. Nati wasn't kidding herself; she might have the strength and armor, but Peli hadn't made it this far _alongside the Armorer_ if she couldn't hold more than her own. “If we're right about this being a widespread thing, they'll know your face.”

“And mine,” the Armorer said.

“Not mine,” Nati said, “Unless someone at the covert is an informer, which, willing to say the covert's our last genuinely safe spot with people in the universe, I've never taken my helmet off on a hunt if I'm not on board my ship.”

“You'd have to go without your armor,” Peli pointed out.

“I have other clothes,” Nati told her, “Not that I've actually worn them before, but I have them. I'll change before I lower the ramp.”

“It will be your only time you can do that without your face entering the database,” the Armorer told her.

The database – which, Nati finally knew how to access it without going through nearly a dozen other menus first – was something available to anyone who knew where to look. A collection of faces, most with names attached and _all_ with descriptors attached, so people who needed specific people – as opposed to a general swatch of bystanders to prove a point – dead knew they had their instruments of death aimed at the correct someone.

“Bound to happen eventually, yeah?” Nati scratched the back of her neck.

“No,” the Armorer said, her refusal so absolute Nati froze in place to wait for whatever came next, “I will go, with my armor, and you two will keep the engine running.”

“Can we refuel with the engine running?” Nati asked.

“Only if we're willing to risk getting blown up,” Peli crossed her arms, “I have a better idea.”

Nati and the Armorer both looked at her, heads tilted at the same angle and neither of their helmets doing anything to hide the sheer bewilderment at the idea she'd dug another option out of this mess.

–

In the heart of the market, Cara had Winta on her shoulders so she could spot things that caught her interest from a distance and point them out.

Winta's direction giving left something to be desired, but she was determined to get it right and Cara did not offer many suggestions; this was a safe place for the kid to learn how to give directions and, a step beyond that, learn how to translate what she was seeing in her head into something other people could act on.

It was food, mostly, that caught Winta's attention, but there had been one clothing stall and two places that sold weapons that Omera worried over a little bit, but Cara couldn't fault the kid.

After all she'd lived through, who could blame her for wanting to see some weapons up close that _weren't_ being pointed at her?

–

That had been almost too easy.

Granted, if Peli hadn't been there, if Peli hadn't been, you know, _Peli,_ everything would have gone to shit, but it was still just _so easy._

Once Peli had been able to confirm the mismatched wing came from a different craft entirely – haphazardly scavenged and reassembled in parts held together enough for Nati to get to a planet with actual repair people that could keep it on the ship – and find the number of _that_ ship, they'd been able to use the ship's comms to call for fuel for a ship that was, in all honestly, almost entirely still wrecked and discarded on a rocky planet that also held Nati's ship's other wing.

“How'd you do it?” Peli asked while the ship was being fueled, “Assemble the wing, I mean.”

“Welllll,” Nati sounded embarrassed, “You know how I mentioned teaching myself how to land was the hard part?” Peli nodded, “I _may_ have crashed landed the first time but in my defense there were a _lot_ of crashes there so I found one that looked about the same and, you know, used what I had on board – well, what the last guy who owned it had, anyway – to scrape what was left of the one wing and replace it with the other ship's.”

There was a moment of silence where Peli seemed to be trying to gather her words together in the right order and not lead with _What the fuck?_ so the Armorer bought her some time.

“When you were appointed beroya,” the Armorer said more to orient Peli than to remind Nati, “you already had this ship. When did it come into your possession?”

“Oh, uh,” Nati seemed to deflate and then curl into herself, “After Nevarro. Not too long after, actually. You know how Din's bounty hadn't been called off when everything happened?”

“Mmhmm,” the Armorer nodded. It was hard to forget, how the man they'd risked everything for – had given damned near everything for – was still out there, running for his life with a Foundling and _they couldn't help him._

“After the raid,” Nati's leg was bouncing, “Well, technically _during_ the raid, a lot of Guild members who'd been on the planet fled. I...I was able to get into one of their ships just before it took off. They just kind of looked at me for a long while like they were trying to decide if they were going to kill me or not,” she paused, a shuddering sigh shaking her entire body, “They didn't kill me, obviously, didn't even try to. One of them just asked me _How much of that blood is yours?_ and I don't even remember what I said, but they told he to get in the sonic and get all of it off me before they landed. And when they landed, they told me to disappear. So I did.”

“And the ship?” the Armorer prompted.

“I was able to secure a smaller bounty – well, I know _now_ it's a smaller bounty, but at the time it felt like a windfall – at one of the bars near where they'd parked. The planet...it was so bright despite the skies being so dark and it was _crowded_ to the point I thought I was drowning but someone took one look at my armor and decided that if I was Mandalorian I could handle the bounty they had. So I did. I...at the time, I didn't think I'd ever see anyone from the covert again, and the covert's all I have,” she sniffed and shook her head and when she started speaking again her voice was strong, clear, whatever had tried to overtake her successfully pushed back, “So if I was going to make it, I needed to learn to hunt, and being handed a bounty seemed like a good a place as any to start.”

“Shit,” Peli said.

“Yeah,” Nati agreed, “It's all so surreal looking back, almost like it happened to someone else and I just got the boon from all the shit they went through.”

_That sounds like trauma,_ the Armorer kept the notion to herself; traumatized people like Nati, like Din and Paz and Cobb and even herself – they knew they'd been through so much hell their brains had rewired themselves so they could survive, knew they'd never be who they used to be, knew there was a wound that would never heal, never scar over, and mentioning it only did harm.

Nati had found her own ways to sidestep the wound, even if she might seem unhinged to those who did not know how these wounds shaped you, and she showed promise that, given time and community and _family,_ she would be just fine.

“But yeah,” Nati continued, “the target was on the planet and while he was a pain to bring down, I eventually just shot him in the head and that took care of that...but then I had to drag him back to the guy who put the bounty down and _that_ attracted a lot of attention but look at me, even with my armor on I'm like. Smaller than almost everyone in any given room. I couldn't pick him up and for some reason nobody wanted to give me a ride,” she laughed, “So I get he guy, trail of blood and all, back to the guy who wanted him dead, he paid me and told me the dead guy had a ship and if I wanted that, too, I should run to it before someone else got to it. So I did.”

“And you just. Took off,” Peli said the words slower than she normally spoke, still trying to wrap her head around the phenomenon that was Nati.

“Yeah,” Nati looked around the ship, “Again, that part was easy. Landing. Landing I had a feeling was going to be hard so I picked a planet that I could really fuck up on to practice.”

Peli laughed and Nati uncurled a bit, just slightly relaxed.

“When Paz found me,” Nati kept talking, “It had been so many weeks that they'd rolled into _months_ that I'd been hunting on my own. He...he recognized me before I recognized him and we came to blows because someone with Mandalorian armor was coming at me and I didn't think I'd ever see anyone again so...” she sighed, “I didn't want to go down without a fight. He disarmed and subdued me pretty quickly, but all he said was _Are you coming back to the covert or not?_ and that just kind of. Broke me. So of course I came home.”

“I forget that Paz can fly,” Peli said.

“Oh, no, he can't,” Nati managed a laugh, “He really, really can't. He did what a lot of us did: hopped on ships and very heavily implied either we were riding in peace or we were killing everyone on board and taking the ship.”

“Okay, that sounds more like Paz,” Peli sounded so amused.

A little horn outside announced that they were refueled and could leave any time.

“Alright,” Nati sat up straight, proud, ready, “Let's go home.”

Home was, the Armorer reasoned, the best place to go right now.

“Home it is,” the Armorer agreed.

–

Omera had been the one to notice the man following them. She'd managed to tell Cara without attracting too much attention, and after Cara spotted him, too, she had Winta get back on her own two feet so she could go off on her own for a moment to see if she could figure out what this guy wanted.

He caught up to them first, but Cara had been quick to pin him against the side of a building and demand what he wanted.

“Don't shoot,” he pleaded despite there being no blasters drawn, “I overheard you were looking for a flight out.”

“And decided to follow us at a distance?” Cara did not let the guy go.

“You did not say where you were going,” he tried to explain himself, “Please, I want to help.”

“Help how?” Cara's voice was steel. Omera took half a step back, a reflex at the force of it, but then planted her feet firmly on the ground – this was still her Cara.

“I can get you a ship,” the guy said, “It's small but sturdy. It will get you where you need to go.”

“Why would you do that?” Cara asked.

“You two are the reason I still have a family,” he told them, “the reason I still have a village. Please, if you need to leave, if you need to get somewhere, _I want to help._ ”

“Okay,” Cara exhaled and let the guy go, “Okay.”

“Thank you,” the stranger sounded like relief had flooded his veins, “Thank you,” he said again, “This way.”

Cara and Omera shared a glance and nodded. 

“Come on,” Omera told Winta, “We have to go.”

“Okay,” Winta took her mother's hand and held tight, “Since I've stayed next to you the entire time, can I go to another market one day?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” Omera promised her, “Yes, you can.”

“Yay!” Winta skipped for a few steps, what she had just witnessed already forgotten.

–

“Being a hero has its perks,” Omera said as she and Cara got their new ship ready for takeoff, “How's the ship seem?”

“It'll get us to Lothal,” Cara said, “Not really sure what we're going to do with it once we get there.”

“We could take it, too,” Omera suggested, “One of us here, one of us in the other ship.”

“Worth a shot,” Cara shrugged, “Depends on where we're going though.”

“I think there's only one place we'll wind up,” Omera said, “I mean, think about it.”

“Eh,” Cara shrugged, “Maybe, but with everything that's about to start unraveling do you really think they'd go _there_?”

“Go where?” Winta asked as she hung off the pack of Cara's seat, “Where are we going?”

“Lothal first,” Cara said, “then, if your mom's right, the covert.”

“Oh cool,” Winta tugged at the seat back, “They have enough room for both ships at the covert, right?”

“And then some,” Cara told her, “Winta, I need you to listen very carefully to what I'm about to say, okay?”

“Don't mention the covert to anyone that hasn't been there,” Winta rolled her eyes, “I won't I promise.”

“Smart girl,” Cara told her.

“Get in a seat and buckle yourself in,” Omera told her, “Can't have you bouncing around the cockpit.”

“Fine,” Winta sighed as she sat in the nearest seat and buckled herself in, “Does Lothal have a market?”

“Probably,” Cara told her, smiling.

The ship jerked as it left the ground and made a strange noise and Omera wondered if it was wise to take this ship to two planets in a day.

Either way, they'd find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right at the end of work yesterday we found out the HOA is doing a a mandatory preventative spray for wild rodents and cockroaches...inside all the apartments. Which, okay, fine, probably not environmentally friendly, but fine, we're renters, we ultimately don't get a say in it.
> 
> Except for the part where we have _**pet**_ rodents who we absolutely want to keep alive.
> 
> We had to scramble to get all the pet rodents in their temp cages and then get them all somewhere that ISN'T getting sprayed and they are NOT HAPPY about the smaller cages.
> 
> Like little buddies we will get you back on Monday please don't eat the petsitter.
> 
> That said, a PSA: If you have pets, have emergency temporary cages/carriers/apparatuses ready at all times. I don't care if it's 'I have their hard plastic carriers at the door' or 'I've trained my cat to not jump out of a backpack while I leave the building' or 'I'm just going to slip the leash on my dog as we go.' Have. A. Plan.
> 
> ~~Guess what I trained my cat to do.~~
> 
> ~~Don't worry, it has air holes.~~


	3. Ship Shuffle part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaos tries to snare the group, but there are plenty of plans to go around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's trying to claw their way to solid mental ground. We all know how plans go with this group.

The covert's holo was ringing.

“Cara!” Cobb answered the call, “Tell me you have good news.”

“Tell me you don't have bad news first,” Cobb told her.

“You're answering the covert holo? And just weird news,” Cara told him, “Long story short someone, uh, gave us a ship?”

“I was closest. And okay, we have another ship, okay,” Cobb flagged down Din from wherever Din was headed, “Din, they have another ship.”

“Great?” Din seemed unsure if it was.

“I'm worried it's got a tracker or something,” Cara told them, “but between the three of us and the droids I'm not sure we've got the ability to check thoroughly.”

“If anyone could do it, it's Peli,” Din sighed, “They're supposed to be here any minute. We can see how long they'll need to get Peli turned around and meet you three.”

“On Lothal?” Cara asked.

“No,” Din decided, “Find a planet that has a low population density and send us your location once you get there. We'll let you know when we can dispatch Peli at that point, too.”

“Alright,” Cara nodded.

“You, uh, can you two, er, three, erm, eight?” Cobb wasn't sure if he should be including Winta and the droids in this question, “Both ships can be flown off Lothal at the same time, right?” 

“Yes,” Cara assured him, “We'll be in contact.”

“Good,” Cobb exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, “Fly well.”

Cara's face blinked out.

“Weird,” Din said.

“Suspicious,” Cobb said.

“Well I didn't want to be the one to say it,” Din grimaced, “Hopefully Peli's ready for a fast turn around.”

“Hopefully,” Cobb agreed, “I don't want her to run herself into the ground, though.”

“No,” Din rested his shoulder against Cobb's, “I don't want anyone running themselves into the ground.”

“Include yourself in that,” Cobb told him.

“Doing my best,” Din sighed.

“You're doing fantastic,” Cobb rested his temple against Din's, “Sorry, I called you away from something.”

Din sighed, a long-suffering thing, “We've almost got everyone in some sort of...order?” he reached for the right words, “Nobody wants to talk about what happened between the raid on the first covert and when Paz found them, but...”

“Sounds like some things they've seen might help,” Cobb closed his eyes, “Just don't...promise me you won't force them to tell their stories. Even if it would help fill in the gaps, _promise me_ you won't make them talk about it.”

“I promise,” Din leaned into Cobb a little more, “I promise.” The second one sounded broken, terrified, like he _understood_ the price breaking the promise would incur, both from Cobb and from anyone who felt they had to take what horrors they survived and make them real in the _now._

“Good luck,” Cobb told him.

“You, too,” Din took a deep breath and went back to work.

–

Paz found Din in the meeting room, sans armor, face down on a table they'd pulled from who knew where.

“How do we have so many tables?” Paz asked.

“This one's from the mess,” Din told him, “I think the mess tables are all just redistributed.”

“How'd they get down the halls?” Paz sat next to Din, “The chairs, too?”

“There's so much going on,” Din grumbled, “It's like we showed up and everyone's sprung to action.”

“I mean,” Paz looked Din up and down, “you did light a fire in everyone's bones that so many thought the raid on Nevarro had doused permanently.”

“Which, I might feel better about if I knew what was happening,” Din mumbled, “Which is my fault.”

“Oh Din,” Paz ran his fingers through Din's hair slowly, gently, a thing of comfort. Din closed his eyes and let out a little whimper and Paz said, “Oh Din,” again.

“I don't even know what _I_ am doing,” Din said it like a confession.

“Be patient with yourself,” Paz told him, “Everything we know keeps changing. It's okay to be lost.”

“Is it?” Din asked.

“Yes,” Paz kept stroking his hair, “Everything, what might be happening, what _is_ happening, what's coming, it's all unprecedented. There's no manual, no script, just...just faith, and each other.”

“Is this what you said when you found everyone?” Din asked, “This sort of thing?”

There was a long silence save for their breathing – Din's slow and easy, Paz's suddenly too loud and too measured, but finally Paz said, “Yes.”

“I can see why they made it then,” Din told him, “You say I lit the fire, but you're the one who reminded them they had a spark still to tend.”

Paz made a noise he knew told Din he didn't believe that; he hadn't meant to make the noise, but there was no undoing the past.

Even if there was, there were thousands upon thousands of moments Paz would change before that one.

“One day,” Paz's hand stopped, fingers still threaded through Din's hair, “I'll tell you everything that happened.”

“Only if you want to,” Din told him, “and if you can.”

Paz made a noise that was his feelings on wanting to and needing to and how deep the entire thing had dig itself into him, how it refused to let go, refused to take shape or words such that he might purge himself of it and feel like himself again.

“I won't force you, is what I'm trying to say,” Din told him.

“You'd never force me to do anything,” Paz knew this inherently.

“Except take care of yourself,” Din was looking at him, eyes so wide and so full of _love_ and _care_.

“Even then it's a nudge,” Paz resumed stroking Din's hair, “not a force.”

Din made a noise, a soft one, and murmured, “You keep doing that and I'm going to fall asleep.”

“Noted,” Paz did not stop.

They were at work, now, work that may yet give way to war, but there was a part of Paz still on vacation, still so wired to be near his boys at all possible moments, to touch them and talk to them and let the rest of the world fall away and he was determined to keep that part of him alive and near the front of his mind at all possible times.

War or not, Din, Cobb, they were _his boys_ and he was going to fight anything that came for them.

Din started snoring, a soft thing, so quiet Paz wouldn't have been able to hear it if there was anyone else in the room.

“Oh Din,” he said a third time, a fond thing this time, and he nudged Din awake so he could at least have Din lie on the floor instead of slumped over like that. Din, even mostly asleep, had managed to get Paz sitting down with his legs out in front of him so he could use Paz's thigh as a makeshift pillow.

“I live here now,” Paz said as he resumed stroking Din's hair, “Literally and spiritually.”

Paz let the back of his head rest against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to let as much of this stolen moment seep into his soul as he could.

–

“They're what?” Peli asked after she'd been briefed on the situation with the two ships.

“Is that you asking me to repeat everything or you wanting to know more about why there's a bonus ship?” Cobb tried to clarify.

“The second one,” Peli told him, “Have they said where they've landed?”

“Not yet,” Cobb shook his head.

“Alright,” Peli braced herself on the table Cobb had been working at, pouring through files that seemed to be from the big data download they'd done the last time they were here, “Okay. I'm going to try to rest a bit, sleep if I'm lucky. You'll get me as soon as they call?”

“Absolutely,” Cobb promised her.

“I, too, could use some sleep,” Nati yawned as she said it, “I think over we've been up for over a day straight now?”

“Getting closer to two for us,” the Armorer said and then held up her hands in a sort-of surrender, “I'll sleep, too, don't worry.”

“How's the fuel on your ship?” Peli asked the Armorer.

“Ready to fly,” the Armorer told her, “Why?”

“Because I've seen Nati's ship and odds are yours is going to cost a lot less in fuel,” Peli told her, “If you don't mind me taking it,” she was quick to amend.

“I'll go with you,” the Armorer told her.

“I don't think any of us should go off-planet alone,” Cobb more or less agreed, “Okay, Nati, Peli,” he paused, “Armorer,” at this point asking her for her name was just too awkward so he accepted the window had passed and hoped that, eventually, someone would say her name where he could hear it, “Rest, I'll let everyone know you're back.”

“I think I'm going to sleep in the ship,” Peli said, “It'll be quieter.”

The Armorer looked to Peli and, despite her helmet being on, Peli blushed and the corners of her mouth quirked upward into a smile.

“Go to sleep,” Cobb shooed them off, “I'll let everyone else know you're here and tell them you _need_ your sleep.”

“Alright, alright,” Peli waved him off, “Believe me, I do _not_ need any encouragement when it comes to sleeping.”

She and the Armorer started walking away, pinkies linked.

When they were well out of ear shot, Nati turned to Cobb and right as she drew a breath that people only draw before they're about to ask a lot of questions, Cobb told her: “I lived with just them for _months_ on Lothal. Whatever you're about to ask me I've already asked myself and I don't know the answer.”

“Were they always like that and the fact we're all sleep deprived has them all...their private selves in public?” Nati asked anyway.

“Okay, I stand corrected, I have not asked myself that,” Cobb said, “No, no they weren't.”

“Sweet,” Nati said aloud, “Nap, betting pool, situation rundown, in that order.”

She was walking off before Cobb could ask about the betting pool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no way Peli and the Armorer are sleeping once they get to the Armorer's ship.


	4. Interlude: On Our Way to Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Armorer promised she'd get some sleep. She didn't say that was all she'd be doing, and Peli? Peli made no promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do they think they're subtle?

“Which one's yours?” Peli asked, looking between the small collection of ships in what had become the ad hoc parking lot for the covert – close enough to run to in an emergency but far enough away that a ship fire wouldn't damage the building and vice versa.

“Why are they all parked here?” the Armorer asked aloud, “We are a _covert_ , not a _pull all our fucking ships together in an obvious fashion to signal this planet is occupied._ ”

“That's way too long a name,” Peli noted.

The Armorer laughed, a free sound, and out of the corner of her eye she could see Peli smile.

“It's the wedge one,” the Armorer told her.

“Is that,” Peli squinted, almost a reflex, “No way is that a _Pursuer_.”

The Armorer shook her head and pulled Peli along.

“You're familiar, then?” she asked.

“Heard of them,” Peli's eyes were glued to the ship, “Usually wind up in some horrible accident that makes getting a new one easier than salvage.”

“Usually,” the Armorer agreed, “but this one wasn't a surveyor.”

“So, either stolen or used in actual battles,” Peli said.

“And you won't ask which,” the Armorer guessed.

“Don't think I have to,” Peli told her, “When was the last time you had it serviced?”

The Armorer snorted, caught off-guard by both the sound and Peli's question. Peli started to say something, but the Armorer told her, “You _are_ sleeping before you even think about servicing my ship.”

“Mmn, already blew that one, sorry,” Peli did not look or sound even the smallest bit sorry.

“We are sleeping, though,” the Armorer said.

“Are we?” Peli's voice was light, teasing, and the Armorer felt her breath catch in her throat.

They'd stayed linked at the pinkie – it had been Peli's thing, in the earliest days of _whatever this was_ , a way to stay close without becoming overbearing, as if she could sense that the Armorer might flee if she started to feel like she'd become too attached to Peli, and the Armorer kept it despite feeling fairly confident she wouldn't bolt at this point – until they got to the ship and she had to let go to lower the ramp manually.

“No good in a quick escape,” she said as she was inputting the command series that would lower the ramp, “but that wasn't a concern until it was too late.”

Peli huffed, a _you don't have to tell me how that one feels_ born of wildly different circumstances with the same end result: the both of them here, still reeling in their own ways, unmoored and _lost_ despite everyone _Din_ had found and that was the sticking point, wasn't it, that they were traveling with _Din's people_ , not with each other?

“If you change your mind,” Peli didn't finish the sentence and the Armorer wondered if she meant about the ramp or about...anything else, really.

“Come on,” the Armorer climbed onto the ramp before it finished lowering, a habit, “I've modified it a bit, but...”

“You do realize I lived in a garage for decades, right?” Peli also climbed onto the ramp, “Not in a house attached to a garage, _in a garage._ By choice.”

“I didn't, actually,” the Armorer said as she canceled the ramp's lowering and told it to close again.

“Ah, right,” Peli looked down as if it would hide her grimace and then looked up again, “Well, I did.”

“This might have about the same amount of usable space,” the Armorer told her.

“Less oil and grease here by far,” Peli said it with a sad sort of laugh, “Which parts are modified?”

“Well, the cot, for one,” the Armorer indicated the cot in question, “used to be storage. Cooking and water purification used to take up more space, but it was only me, after...” she stopped talking, words trailing off as she realized how close she had gotten to telling Peli exactly what had happened, why she'd broken off from Death Watch with those she could rally to her, why she'd formed the covert instead of stayed on Mandalore to the last and _holy fuck_ was that an indicator she needed to rest or scream or maybe both.

“Carbonite,” Peli rapped her knuckles on one of the empty frames.

“Much more useful than a full kitchen,” the Armorer was thankful for the way out of the way she'd steered the conversation.

“You used to hunt,” Peli did not ask, more came to the realization aloud.

“Din wasn't always beroya,” she told Peli.

Something about Peli shifted, her curiosity turning into something serious and the Armorer's first instinct was to run, to find out of this ship she'd been using for decades had an escape hatch because the damned ramp was so slow.

She dug in her heels instead, refused to give in to the fear she'd used as her personal guidance system for so long.

“It's just been you for a long time, hasn't it?” Peli asked.

The Armorer almost tried to joke her way out of the conversation, which probably would have been worse than trying to talk about it, and her face must have given something away because Peli said, “Come on,” and sat on the edge of the cot to take off her shoes, “let's get some sleep.”

The Armorer watched as Peli moved from taking her shoes off to shedding most of her clothes, leaving only her socks, underclothes, and tank top on. The back of her mouth felt dry and her body felt frozen.

“Should I put my clothes back on?” Peli asked, “I should have asked, sorry.”

“No,” the Armorer told her, “No, don't, you're,” _perfect,_ “You're fine.”

Peli shrugged and laid down on the cot and then moved as close to the wall as she could, making room for the Armorer should she want to join her and _fuck_ the Armorer had expected this point to come eventually but she hadn't expected it to come this soon or with so much surrounding the moment that it blindsided her. 

She took a deep breath and reminded herself that Peli, of everyone in her life, was the last person who might harm her and started to shed her armor and leathers.

Before she laid down, she grabbed a blanket from one of the storage crates and draped it over the both of them. Peli grabbed one edge of the blanket and tucked it between herself and the wall.

The Armorer reached down to where she'd let her fur short cloak fall and covered the both of their shoulders with it. She rolled to face Peli as Peli settled into the weight of the fur.

“Thank you,” Peli's eyes were already closed. She shifted a little as she wrapped the blanket around her feet.

“Are you cold?” the Armorer asked.

“I don't think so,” Peli _sounded_ exhausted all of the sudden, as if closing her eyes had signaled the rest of her it was time to stop running on high.

The Armorer put an arm around Peli and Peli snuggled into her, her forehead against the Armorer's chin and her legs intertwined with the Armorer's, ankles and knees knocking each other as they tried to find a balance between available space and joints and comfort.

They settled, eventually, one of Peli's legs swing over the Armorer's thigh and the Armorer's arm that wasn't swung over Peli acting as a makeshift neck pillow. Peli's arms were drawn in, crossed over Peli's chest. When they finished settling, Peli asked, “Mind if I put an arm around you?”

“I don't mind,” the Armorer could have kicked herself for sounding so formal but Peli's arm reached out and then settled with Peli's elbow over the side of her rib cage and Peli's hand splayed over her back, warm and comforting and _so very there._ The Armorer kissed Peli's forehead and Peli hummed, a happy thing, and kissed the closest patch of skin she found – the base of Armorer's neck – and the Armorer shivered.

“Good?” Peli asked.

“Very,” the Armorer told her. Peli smiled – the Armorer could feel the shape of her lips change against her skin – and the Armorer kissed Peli's forehead again. 

“Why do I have to be so exhausted?” Peli complained and the Armorer felt the sentiment in ways she'd never quite expected to understand.

“When we get your ship back,” every word was separated by a quick kiss to the forehead, “my quarters have a proper bed.”

Peli laughed, a quiet, _low_ thing that _promised_ and _hungered._ What Peli said, though was, “If you want.”

“Do you want?” it was deflection and the Armorer knew it but she wasn't ready to cut her bag of hang-ups open to loose its contents onto Peli just yet.

“ _Yes,_ ” Peli was quick to say, “Holy fuck, _**yes**_ ,” Peli kissed the hollow of the Armorer's neck again, with more force this time, teeth _just barely_ grazing the Armorer's skin, “but just because I want doesn't mean you have to want, too.”

The Armorer let herself wonder what she had done so _right_ in her life to deserve Peli. That thought was quickly followed up with the option to lie to Peli, tell Peli what she thought Peli wanted to here but she pushed that thought aside and when it tried to return she killed it without hesitation and without mercy.

No more lying. No more running.

“Nothing below my waist,” she told Peli, “I,” she stopped, the words for the entire truth not happening, not now, not yet though she could not understand why they would not answer her summons, why even the single word _can't_ would not leave her.

She tried another route.

“It's not that I don't want you,” she took a deep breath, a thing that was supposed to be grounding but had no effect, “because I do. I do,” she exhaled hoping _that_ would offer some sort of grounding and it did nothing of the sort, “I just. I'm...”

“Okay,” Peli's voice was gently but without pity, which, to the Armorer, felt like a mercy, “Okay. That's okay. That's perfectly okay. Nothing below your waist, easy, I'll keep my hands up here.”

“And you still..?” the Armorer felt like a coward for not being able to finish the question.

“Want you?” Peli guessed the rest of it anyway, “Absolutely.”

The Armorer had no idea when she'd started holding her breath but she exhaled and _that_ gave her the grounded feeling she'd been trying to find. Peli pulled back and then up to kiss her on the lips, a gentle, chaste thing as she pulled the Armorer closer to her. The Armorer gripped Peli against her as Peli took her leg off the Armorer's thigh.

“Leg's fine,” the Armorer told her, “That's...that's a different below my waist.”

“Okay,” Peli put her leg back, “still good, though?”

“Very,” the Armorer meant it, “thank you.”

“That you have boundaries makes you no less desirable,” Peli told her and _holy shit_ where did Peli learn to speak like that? It was a different Peli than the one most people saw, one much more in charge and eloquent and the Armorer felt like she was being given a part of a secret every time Peli let her see this aspect of herself.

“My brother's friends,” Peli told her and the Armorer realized she'd said all that aloud, “A lot of them were from the core worlds, brought their rich-boy accents and syntaxes with them and I was young and impressionable and dreamed of being old enough to leave with them one day, just get off that sandy hellhole and become someone else, someone who spoke like she had money and friends and a foundation she didn't have to scrape together on a world even the Empire did not find value in.”

Peli paused for a long moment and all the Armor could do was put a hand on Peli's face, her palm melding itself to the shape of Peli's cheek. 

“It was like talking like them made me feel like someone who mattered,” Peli said it so quietly that even this close the Armorer had trouble making each word out but the subtext was so, so loud.

_You make me feel like someone who matters._

“Oh Peli,” the Armorer squeezed Peli like they could get any closer, “You do matter.”

Peli sniffed and the Armorer let instinct take over as she shifted Peli so that she was lying on her back and straddled her, kissed Peli's face and neck and shoulders and told her over and over again that she _does_ matter and Peli cried, a silent, proud thing and the Armorer had seen warriors cry before and that was what she was seeing now, someone who'd spent her life fighting like hell and defending her home and faith in every decision she made, in every action she took, a warrior in her own right letting herself _feel_ so deeply she was able to express it, too.

“Thank you,” Peli murmured.

“Of course,” the Armorer wasn't sure those were the right words but Peli said _cyare_ and the Armorer touched their foreheads together and held herself like that as they both forced themselves to relax in a way that, in its own time, shifted into a genuine sort of relaxed and when sleep found them, the Armor was laying on Peli, their cheeks pressed together, Peli's arms wrapped tightly around the Armorer's rib cage, the blanket half-discarded but the fur firmly settled on the Armorer's shoulders as if it had never left.

These exhausted warriors slept in their little bubble of peace they'd forged out of each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Rejected chapter summary: 'The Armorer makes an excellent weighted blanket.~~
> 
> I mean they DID get to sleep, they just. Took the long way to get there.
> 
> Women who don't want to be touched below the waist or have hard boundaries in general deserve to feel wanted and I will come to blows with anyone who disagrees.
> 
> This chapter was ALMOST an explicit one, but the Armorer isn't quite there yet. And that is okay.
> 
> Also, I've been prioritizing writing this over playing the Stardew Valley update and that speaks VOLUMES about how excited I am to tell this story.


	5. Ship Shuffle part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My gods how many ships can everyone have coming and going at one time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was setting up this chapter I accidentally put what I'd MEANT for the start note in the summary and decided to leave it there.

Peli awoke to someone knocking on the door.

“Shit,” the Armorer hissed, “They could have called.”

“Seriously,” Peli agreed as they both scrambled to get their clothes on, “How long were we out?”

“No idea,” the Armorer felt like she could have slept for another several hours.

The Armorer was dressed first, a lifetime of awareness that every moment was a moment away from irreparable chaos making her _fast_ but Peli was only seconds behind her.

The Armorer didn't run – but only _just barely_ didn't run – to get the ramp open.

“Yes, where should we be going?” the Armorer had a feeling like they should have left by now despite not having stopped to check the time.

“Actually,” the Mandalorian who was standing there was in full armor, “they want you back at the covert, alor.”

The Armorer managed not to blanch, but just barely, and the Mandalorian facing her continued: “Some of the elders want your corroboration on the timelines they've been laying out.”

“Tine is not our ally in this,” the Armorer wasn't thrilled about sending Peli to who-knew-where alone, but if her people were asking for her, still looking to her as the final word?

She couldn't let them down again.

Behind her, Peli cleared her throat.

“Also, Cara called a few hours ago,” the Mandalorian in front of her kept talking, “Said to let you sleep a bit. Figured I could wake you both at the same time I told you you're wanted back in the building. I can go with Peli.”

“Can you find a tracker without a scanner – what's your name?” Peli asked.

“Fen. Fen Rook. And I could last time I had to,” Fen seemed sure that they still could.

“Alright,” the Armorer nodded, “Peli, Fen, keep us updated.”

“Are you alright with us taking your ship, or did you want me to take mine?” Fen asked.

“Whichever uses less fuel,” the Armorer realized it was _Peli_ she trusted flying her ship, not a member of her own covert.

She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

“Mine then,” Fen said, “Peli, do you need anything before we depart?”

“Nope,” Peli shook her head.

“Be safe,” the Armorer told the both of them, “and play nice.”

“Alor, I would never-” Fen started saying.

“Pretty sure that last bit was for me,” Peli cut them off, “Come on, Fen, let's get in the air.”

Fen seemed unsure what they'd just signed themselves up for.

–

“Peli!” Cara'd heard the holo going off and sprinted to get it, “Oh Peli am I glad to see your face.”

“Not so glad you didn't have them wake me earlier,” Peli teased, “I've got one Fen Rook here with me and we're a few hours out. You're sure you weren't followed?”

“Positive,” Cara nodded, “We've been monitoring the skies and comms. Silence, save for you. Fen Rook?”

“Former tech,” Peli explained in as few words as possible, “One of Din's.”

“Gotchya,” Cara said with a nod, “Comm again once you're out of hyperspace.”

“Yes ma'am!” Peli said before she ended the call.

“New friends?” Winta asked.

“I sure hope so, kiddo,” Cara shook her head, “I sure hope so.”

–

Fen had a lot to say.

Fen had been talking since the call with Cara had ended and thus far they'd taken Peli through their history of serving in the Death Watch and then serving Bo-Katan as a Nite Owl, the capture of Darth Maul just before Order 66 had been enacted, the failed attempt at retaking Mandalore, how they'd been practically peeled off the planet by the Armorer at the very beginning of the Great Purge...

“The histories the covert knew,” Fen was saying, “were so different than the ones I'd learned under Bo-Katan, but,” they paused to adjust some of the ship's settings, “I'd already realized I'd been lied to a few times by then, by the government, by Pre Vizsla, by my own faith in Bo-Katan.

“It wasn't hard to believe the new history, really.”

It had been a lot to talk in.

Fen managed to keep talking.

“From what I could tell, the covert had been on the fringes of Mandalorian society since the Clone Wars; it sounds like they split from Death Watch in its earliest days, and it was just a few of them for a long time. They'd disagreed with involving Darth Maul and realized they weren't going to win a challenge, so they've just been...waiting.

“Came in handy, really, all the waiting. For people like me, I mean. Took a few decades for their waiting to pay off, honestly, but when the Purge started they were there to collect those of us who'd been left for dead on Mandalore.

“And it seemed like they'd also been collecting Foundlings throughout the war, as well as in skirmishes on planets the Empire wanted more for their resources than their populations. Say what you will about histories and politics, I've never seen a group of Mandalorians more willing to sacrifice themselves for the safety of children.

“During the Purge – and since the Purge, really – we went underground. Those like me, the ones she peeled off Mandalore, and the ones she collected during the Purge, we ran and we ran and we _ran_ until we found the sewers on Nevarro. It was safe, there, safe enough to set ourselves up, even if we couldn't go above ground. I know some of us, we hadn't seen sunlight in over a decade. 

“We've gotten good at surviving, I'm afraid, but beyond that? I have no idea how all this is going to go.”

Peli wasn't sure what to say.

“All this is to say,” Fen gripped the steering, their gloves creaking, “I know there's a lot of animosity towards the Armorer, but I...I don't think she would have done all this – the lies and false history and the hiding – if there wasn't some sort of greater plan behind it, or at least some driving instinct that's kept the covert alive this long.”

“You seem sure of that,” Peli wanted to be sure of it, too, because that would settle a little easier in her mind than largely ignoring how they _all_ wound up here.

“She's not a monster,” Fen said it like they were ready to actively go on the defensive, “Lost, probably, but we all are at this point. There's no telling when things got so far out of control, if it was intentional or something got out of hand one day and there was no taking it back without wounding...well, everyone. You were there for the aftermath of the files.”

“You keep saying _peeled you off Mandalore_ ,” Peli moved on to her point that bordered on being a question, “Peeled?”

“Pretty literally, Fen sucked their teeth, audible even with their helmet on, “We...we thought we'd _won_ but they – the Empire – came back and _melted_ us. I was on the outer edges of the blast. The Armorer, she. She landed in the middle of the Empire's second or third sweep and...yeah, peeled those of us who were still living off the planet, all but stacked us in her ship and took us to where the covert was at that point.”

The ship dropped out of hyperspace.

“Shit,” Fen hissed and hit the Comm to hail Cara, “That snuck up on me.”

It was Winta who answered.

Fen tilted their head to the side, a silent question, hoping Peli would tell her who the kid was.

“Winta!” Peli exclaimed, “How's it going kid?”

“Good!” Winta's voice was sing-song, “Mommy and Cara are outside.”

“Can you tell them we're about to enter orbit?” Peli asked the kid, who nodded, “Perfect, thank you, we'll see you in a little bit, okay?”

“Okay!” Winta clicked off the call.

“Winta,” Fen said the name like they were trying to remember it on the first try, “She was there, too, when everything went to shit, wasn't she?”

“Yeah,” Peli said, “Din sent her out after the first few fights.”

“Can't blame him,” Fen shook their head, “That was...”

“A disaster?” Peli offered and Fen laughed despite everything, “I don't think she's a monster, by the way.” Peli blanched at the word despite how long she'd been steeling herself against doing just that in the interest of echoing Fen's word choice.

“Good,” Fen's shoulders dropped and only then could Peli tell how tense they'd been, “Good.” It was a more honest thing the second time.

Fen set their descent pattern and Peli filled in the gaps; a ship's a ship's a ship, at the end of the day, and perhaps only marginally more complicated than Nati's _gun's a gun_ philosophy.

Peli shook her head to clear it, a preemptive thing.

There was work to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise it's backstory!
> 
> Also, you know how back in part one I mentioned getting a label maker and chaos has taken hold? I now have fucking beans: https://imgur.com/gallery/bubVaIG
> 
> They stare at us like that every time we open the cupboard.


	6. Leave no Track(er)s

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before everyone can finally, finally all be in the same place, everyone needs to be sure they can't be followed back to the covert. Peli and Fen know what they're doing.
> 
> Thankfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are we off to a slow start? Yes. Is this a good thing? Also yes.

Omera had spent almost her entire life knowing Sorgan – her home, her child's home. her _ancestor's_ home – was going to be the only home she ever knew. She was more than okay with this; she was at peace with this. This was her heritage, her traditions, and there was pride to be found in the work she did.

She wondered, as she watched a complete stranger hanging upside-down on the ship using things that should never be used as hand and foot holds as, well, hand and foot hold, what she could possibly tell her younger self that could have prepared her for this.

She had yet to come up with anything, and was starting to think there wasn't anything she _could have said_ to the person she was when she had to grit her teeth and keep her head forward because she was so suddenly the only thing Winta had in the world.

No. That was wrong. She'd tell her younger self that she wouldn't be raising Winta alone forever, that there were _so many people_ who would come to care about the both of them and, one day, the world would look bright again.

She'd just...leave out the bits about the battles and traveling among planets and whatever she was currently witnessing. Those were the sorts of things she'd done just fine taking as they came; there was no sense in wishing she'd had forewarning when there hadn't been a struggle.

“Anything?” Peli called from the other side of the ship and hold hell, that woman's voice could _carry._

“Nothing else!” the newcomer – Fen, someone from the covert, the one who was currently not oriented in a way that indicated any sort of respect for gravity – called back.

They'd not divided the work, but rather decided they were each going to comb both ships _at least twice_ , individually, while the droids also did a series of their own sweeps.

Winta was following the droids around with a reminder to let them work and she promised and, really, what else was the kid supposed to do? Wait like an adult? That wasn't fair.

And, sure, this whole thing wasn't fair – the situation and the stakes and the risks and a number of other things that only made Omera angry when she started thinking about them – but was it not a parent's job to make some room so their children could know what fairness felt like, even in small doses?

By that definition, Winta had a host of parents, and Omera loved each of them in their own way, if for no other reason than how they treated Winta like she was one of their own.

They had found one tracker earlier, on their first pass through the main ship; Fen had found it and they'd disengaged it alongside Peli only to reactivate it just before Fen hurled it into a canyon yelling some things in Mando'a that Omera had a pretty good guess as to the general sentiment despite not knowing the language at all.

Fen was...interesting. Younger than Din and Paz, but not by much, but also seemed to have been a part of the covert for a much shorter period of time based on some of the things they'd said while bantering with Peli.

Peli – that woman could get on with anyone like she'd known them her entire life – took the whole 'there's a tracker on the ship' thing like it was no big deal and Cara had been ready to fight Peli on the severity but Peli had said, _So when we leave this planet, I want you three in Fen's ship; I can take mine and Fen can take your new one back, alright?_ and that had taken all the fight out of Cara.

They'd also agreed to take three different ways back to the covert, each ship making its own way and making sure they weren't being followed. Peli had also acted like her and Fen being the ones to take the fall – possibly in ways that could not be taken back – should they miss even one tracker wasn't anything worth making a fuss over.

When they got back to the covert, Omera was making sure Peli understood her willingness to sacrifice for her, for Cara, for Winta, for _everyone_ was not only seen but so, so deeply valued.

Cara joined Omera in watching Fen...work?

“I'm not sure if I should be impressed or horrified,” Cara told her, voice low, “Beskar isn't magnetic.”

“Neither is the hull!” Fen called over, “Just in case you didn't know I can hear you.” 

“Can't you turn down your censors?” Cara asked loud enough that Peli probably heard, too.

Fen gestures all around as if to say _You cannot be seriously suggesting **less** monitoring right now._

“Okay, fair point,” Cara said at a normal volume.

Fen continued their work.

“Still not sure if I should be impressed or horrified,” Cara said.

“Both, I think,” Omera suggested, “Impressed at the coordination required, horrified by the way gravity seems to be ignored entirely.”

They watched Fen work in silence; Fen continued to scale the ship at every angle but _the safest one_ , tools that looked like they did not regularly double as weapons constantly being clipped to and then unclipped from their belt.

“Found one!” Peli cried and Fen was oriented in a way that allowed them to scale the ship in a heartbeat. Cara started running, too, curious as to what it looked like when it was, well, probably hidden, based on how thoroughly they were both looking.

Omera ran, too, curious.

It was a little thing, smaller than Peli's palm, and the same color as the ship, nestled between a bunch of raised parts, camouflaged so well that the importance Peli and Fen both knew what they were doing hit Omera _hard._

Everyone lives – theirs, the covert's, anyone else they'd taken in over the last few months – were in the hands of these two. 

Just these two.

A mechanic from Tatooine and a single Mandalorian were the only thing preventing total genocide of what might be the last Mandalorian covert left in the galaxy.

All the sudden, it seemed far less impossible that Fen had a questionable relationship with physics.

_They had to._

–

“Okay,” Peli called near a day later – they'd all slept, briefly, and Peli and Fen least of all of them – as she climbed down to the ground once more, “I think we can call this done.”

“Seconded,” Fen said from the other side of the ship, their voice not quite carrying as well as Peli's had from the same distance, “Be right over!”

Without jet pack, Fen had to walk. They, apparently, chose to cross the _top_ of the ship instead of the ground.

Cara was starting to think Fen just liked heights.

They'd found five trackers in total – one more on the outside of the main ship, two _inside_ the main ship, which was deeply unsettling and Cara did _not_ envy whoever'd had to go through everyone's rooms – all on the main ship.

The surprise, gifted, ship seemed to be just that: A gift from someone who wanted to help.

It was easy to lose sight, Cara reminded herself, of the fact there was still selfless goodness in the universe, and even easier to lose faith in the idea that such selfless acts would intersect with her life. 

“So Fen,” Cara said once Fen had joined them, “former tech?”

“Well, currently a tech, too, though less of a diverse portfolio these days,” Fen said with a laugh, “Covert keeps me busy, though.”

Cara tilted her head, a silent question.

“My waking hours are filled with trying to keep the power on and the 'freshers running right,” Fen guessed at the question, “I heard about the whole thing with the fern sap, though.”

Cara smiled and it was the smile she made when she was both amused and impressed and it made Omera smile, too.

“I've started using the sap to coat exposed wires, actually. It's not terribly sticky when it dries,” Fen told her, “Who was it that came up with that idea, anyway?”

“Nati's,” Peli told them, “We realized getting exposed wires covered in the jammer was going to involve walking all the way back to the ship or we'd have to go without and hope nothing sparked. She told us to hang on before she ran outside and came back with a fern leaf.”

“So either she already knew it wasn't going to ruin the electronics,” Fen shook their head, “or you were really just hitting things to see what would happen.”

“I wish I could say it was the first thing,” Peli sounded like she greatly preferred hitting thing to see what would happen to predictability, “but it wasn't. Hold up, you're the one who fixed the 'fresher?”

“Oh no,” Fen's voice sounded like their face had gone pale behind their helmet, “What story were you told?”

Cara almost said _Nothing,_ because she hadn't been, but Peli said, “Paz really broke his nose on the door frame?”

“He was the one who did that?” it was Fen's turn to tilt their head to the side, “I feel sorry for the bastard who got tasked with cleaning up the blood.”

“What?” Cara asked.

“The whole place was a disaster, in the beginning,” Fen told them, something _dark_ at the edges of their voice, “Flooded basement, exposed wires everywhere, had to get all the generators back online and repaired before we could even try to use the 'fresher,” Fen shivered, “And that's just the building.”

It amazed Cara how easy it was to forget these were a people who had been just barely out of the _still might lose everything_ phase of rallying together when they had, as far as she could tell, lost everything but each other.

Fen hadn't taken off their helmet since they'd arrived with Peli, either out of an abundance of caution or an adherence to the Creed that, based on what little she'd picked up from Peli, was in a state of flux that was best ignored unless directly implored not to ignore the shattered edges of the community.

“So,” Peli refocused everyone, “Cara, Omera, Winta, you three and two of my droids will take Fen's ship. I'll take this one with one of the droids, Fen'll take the third one with the last two droids. Everybody got their routes?”

“Yes,” Fen was just shy of standing at attention and Cara couldn't help but wonder where and how they'd served, “We'll all radio home individually once we're in the skies?”

“Correct,” Cara nodded, “Alright, let's go!”

“Alright,” Fen took a deep breath, a thing that could be heard outside their helmet, “let's go.”

“Fen?” Cara asked and Fen stopped and turned to Cara, waiting, “Thanks.”

Fen's shoulders straightened a little and their neck drew back before they said, “You're welcome.”

And just like that, they were off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please know that I have part 2 outlined in its entirety (see start note for my overarching summary) and this is my note at the top of the thing:
> 
> _You know how this works. Don't do a final chapter count until you're SURE this time JFC part one went from 60 to 111 to 75 just don't do that again please mate._


	7. Interlude: Like Loth Kittens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paz has been banned from the war room until he can keep his temper in check.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems his temper's still there, it's just different things that set him off now.

They'd barely been back at the covert for a few days and Paz had already been banned from what everyone was calling _the war room._

To be fair, he hadn't been _banned,_ exactly, just told to come back when he could keep his temper in check. He also hadn't been the only one sent out of the war room; Din had sent **everyone** who was shouting out with a _If we continue to fight among ourselves like this, we've already lost_ and Paz was fairly sure he would have rather Din have struck him.

It might have hurt less that way.

Din wasn't that kind of person.

Din was right, though; this sort of behavior would take any chance of victory away from them before they even managed to scrape a plan together.

Paz didn't want to go outside; outside was dark and damp and cold and while he knew he _could_ swim if he wandered too close to the swamp's edge, he didn't feel like the walk _back_ from that.

Again.

The only time Paz had any sort of grace was while fighting. There was an elegance to it, a required precision that brought out the best in him, strength and coordination alike. If his honor or his life was on the line, he was fairly sure he could have balanced on a wire and not once feared falling.

But scouting the surrounding area in the middle of the night as a last sweep before calling his people home? He'd find the spot where the ground became the water with his entire body. Of course he would.

Words weren't Paz's strength, not like they needed to be in the war room. Could he rally everyone – _everyone_ – to him, could he call and have every soul who'd every heard his voice answer? Yes. Getting people to show up was the easy part.

Getting them to understand the intricacies of a series of assassination attempts that felt like normal life?   
Paz didn't even understand them.

So, he'd been walking the halls, letting his feet move without the rest of him having much input. He'd gone up and down stairs without counting the flights, found himself on the roof once, come back inside and kept wandering until he heard a scream.

It was a Foundling, one of the youngest, who'd just woken from a nightmare. He'd woken the other Foundlings when he'd screamed and the lot of them, scared and screaming for _someone_ had one Paz Vizsla answer their screams.

He'd sat with the one who was crying, who told Paz in broken words that he'd thought he was _back there_ again and Paz knew what he meant, knew being yanked from the tunnels he'd called home would shape how this kid saw the world for a long, long time, if not the rest of his days.

He'd done the best he knew how, held the kid close and let him cry and then the others tried to worm their way in, too, wanted hugs and comfort and _Holy shit has nobody been taking care of the foundlings while I've been away?_

The idea scraped Paz's insides out and reconstituted them in the form of a sour stomach.

He closed his eyes for a moment, shoved it aside, and focused on the kids.

It would do them no good to tell them to go back to bed and not think about it and assure them it was _just a dream_ and that they were safe now because that was not the truth.

_None of it_ was the truth. 

Well, they were safe in the right-here-right-now sort of way, but that was honestly on a moment-to-moment basis.

He recognized all their faces, these found children who'd lost their families, their homes, their everything to a war many of them were still too young to understand. He had memorized them, now, their faces and their voices and their mannerisms because Paz Vizsla was _damned_ if he was going to let another _child_ fight the battles their elders had fallen to while they were still children.

And so, he herded them into the mess, fixed them teas warm enough to provide comfort but not nearly hot enough to burn while they crowded around him, the tallest not even up to his waist, so silent and so scared.

He fed them, too, some bits of not-quite-stale bread and slices of fruit and some cheeses arranged on little plates, finger foods they could pick at and trade with each other if they wanted to.

He also fed himself because he could not remember the last time he ate. Again.

The took the Foundlings and their snacks and their teas to the meeting room – which, ironically, not even close to the war room – and had them sit on the floor to eat and drink. He managed to get them talking to each other, got them talking about things they weren't afraid of, got them focused on things they were excited about.

Most of them were just starting their training, this lot, just barely old enough to start cultivating the mental discipline their drills took. The ones who were not old enough yet had long been watching the ones that were, waiting for their turn, practicing things they did not understand in hopes it would make them more ready when it came to be their turn to train and learn so that, when they were older yet, they could decide to take up the Creed.

Two thoughts clashed in Paz's head, one wondering what it was like at Mandalore's height when hundreds upon thousands of warriors were there to scaffold their children into their ways, the other wondering if there would be anything left _to_ teach these children when whatever their elders – himself included – when this war they were trying to design before whoever they were up against designed it for them was over.

Given that it hadn't begun, Paz's head kept providing him with a blank space, a void of sorts where there was no answer, no way forward but to wait it out.

The Foundlings chattered among themselves, bellies full and nightmares all but forgotten. Paz let them chatter before he tried to herd them back to bed.

They hadn't gone, hadn't even pretended like they were going to go, _had been_ to afraid to go back to where the nightmares happened, not tonight, please, they'd begged and Paz relented before one of them started crying.

Instead, he had them all take their plates and cups back to the mess hall to wash and dry and put back where they belonged before they went back to the meeting room. Paz sat in the middle of the the floor and encouraged the foundlings to gather around him and they did so in a swarm of tiny humans descending on him, feet and knees and elbows knocking everywhere before they all settled down, most of them on top of each other, limbs sprawled in ways only children could manage.

Paz hummed to them, a song he'd long forgotten the words to but could still feel the cadence his buir's voice when it had been sung to _him_ decades ago. It seemed to have the same effect on the Foundlings even without words, a calm, easy thing that let them settle in and let sleep take over.

He wasn't sure how long he'd sat there, awake in the mostly-dark, when Nati found him. He put a finger to his lips as soon as he'd seen her and she walked to him quietly, careful not to disturb anyone. She crouched down behind him, the one spot there were no children, and took her helmet off so she could be as quiet as possible.

“Looking for me?” Paz asked, his voice barely even a whisper.

“Actually, yeah,” her voice was just as quiet, “They're still talking and talking and _talking_ but Din keeps looking at the door like he expects you to walk through it so I thought I'd slip out and check on you before he does. Don't worry, everyone thinks I'm stretching my legs.”

“Thank you,” Paz meant it.

“I take it there's a story here,” Nati looked around at the kids. Paz nodded and Nati asked, “Is there an age limit? Because if there if I would like to announce I am secretly five.”

She'd meant it as a joke, Paz knew, but it felt like a stab nonetheless.

“No age limit, ad'ika,” he told her and she curled up next to him, managed to get both of her arms around his upper arm laid her head on his shoulder. The kids nearest her stirred and when they realized who it was got excited, waking the rest of the kids and it turned into a whole thing where they demanded Nati stay with them, too, so Nati carefully stripped her armor and laid it on the lone remaining table in the room while Paz moved to sit with his back against the wall.

Nati curled up against Paz's side, tucker herself under his arm, her knees tucked against her chest, and it struck Paz how _small_ she was with our her armor – a third of his size, at most – and how she really did look young enough to have been his child by blood instead of by choice.

The Foundlings arranged themselves around the two of them, excited at the idea of having _two_ adults to protect them while they slept.

“It's like we're a bunch of loth kittens,” Nati told them as everyone settled in, “huddled for comfort, warmth, and safety.”

The Foundlings agreed, giggling, telling each other they were loth kitten ade now.

Which would make Paz the buir to all of them, and he wasn't sure he was ready for that level of responsibility. 

But, if it helped them sleep...

All settled, Paz started humming again, the same wordless tune, and it had the same effect as the first time.

Once everyone was asleep, Paz looked around and felt a swell of need to _protect_ this bunch at all costs. There was no force, no army, no weapon strong enough to sever this near-overwhelming drive to keep these children _safe._

He realized, finally, why Din had felt so lost and broken and needed to run and forget after he'd reunited Grogu with his people. 

He'd tell Din all of this, he decided, the next time it was just the three of them, decided Cobb needed to hear, too, everything Paz knew would wind up coming out as a jumble or words and phrases that were supposed to mean _I am so sorry for my complete lack of empathy; I had no idea what a profound effect realizing you're a buir now has on you; I am so sorry._

For now, though, for right-here-right-now, he'd keep the Foundlings safe while they slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative chapter ~~title~~ summary: 'Paz is a pushover as long as it's a kid asking him for something.'
> 
> This is the softest thing I've ever written y'all.


	8. Guild-ed Era

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nati and Cara are going to pay Greef a visit. On the way there, they try to make a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NGL, this one's a short one because I'm trying to get my footing in terms of contrasting these two in their interactions.
> 
> Also, can I just say _fuck migraines._

The flight to Nevarro wasn't a long one, blessedly.

Cara had been at the complex for just under a week, but it had felt like so much longer. It was chaos and theories and a whole bunch of Mandalorians who, despite everything, seemed _excited_ about the idea that they were going to go to war.

There seemed to be enough information to form some sort of solid baseline between everyone's memories and the files; the problem was getting it all organized.

Din was not meant for people. He was a great mediator, sure, and almost everyone looked to him as a leader. There were some holdouts who still looked to the Armorer, but old habits tended to die last.

They were still missing some information though, and there was only one way to get it.

Cara was going to have to convince Greef to break the Guild's code.

She was fairly confident she could do that; Greef was a reasonable man. Sure, he'd taken the long way around to get to that point, but the whole incident that nearly ended in all of their deaths had really shifted the man's perspective.

She was not, however, confident that she could do so with Nati in tow.

She liked Nati well enough. She had the energy of someone who was incredibly young, and Cara found her difficult to keep up with.

Right now, Nati was sitting sideways in the co-pilot's seat with her feet on the wall and her back on the arm rest. She was in full armor, so there was no telling what she was looking at.

Her right foot had not stopped wiggling since the rest of her had settled into that position. It was a little too close to Cara for her comfort, but Nati either hadn't noticed Cara moving away from it or didn't care.

She hoped it was the latter.

Everyone – Cara included – was set on nobody leaving the planet alone. Cara had been an obvious choice when it came to who should go to Nevarro. She'd been Marshal there, after all, and she knew the planet as well as its people.

Nati had been the other choice because Din couldn't confirm whether he was still in the Guild or if he'd _actually_ given Nati his spot.

Plus, there were concerns that Din waltzing in to a place that was giving out bounties meant to trap him could only end in disaster.

So Nati and Cara were sent off with almost no ceremony and absolutely no instructions beyond 'see what you can find out.'

“So,” Cara broke the silence, “what are you thinking in terms of plan?”

“I'm thinking you know him better,” Nati said as she pivoted to sit up straight in her seat, “He was reluctant to give me a job, at first. Kept saying he didn't have anything for three Mandalorians like that was ever a basis for concern.”

“He what?” Cara asked.

“I can't remember his exact words,” Nati turned towards Cara, “but yeah, he was reluctant to give me a contract at first. Granted, it was Din he gave the contract to with the understanding I'd be the one doing the hunting so I could get into the Guild without all the normal hoops and jumps and bullshit.”

“Huh,” was all Cara could say.

“And that one bounty he gave Din?” Nati kept talking, “Apparently he told them it had killed a bunch of hunters. Nearly killed Din, too. Would have, if Paz wasn't there.”

Cara had heard about it, but hearing it in Nati's fast, clipped speech was more unsettling for whatever reason.

“So, what, you want me to do most of the talking?” Cara asked.

“I think he'd talk to you more honestly,” Nati told her, “So, yeah, if you don't mind.”

“What about you?” Cara asked.

“I can do whatever,” Nati shrugged, “Go with you, wait outside, fuck off somewhere for a bit so he actually believes you want to talk to him alone.”

“Not the last one,” Cara told her.

“Sure,” Nati shrugged again.

Nati faced forward and drummed her fingers against her thigh plating. It made a strange sound and Cara hated it.

“Are you going to be alright, going to Nevarro?” Cara asked.

“Why wouldn't I be?” Nati stopped the tapping.

“Just, you know, after everything that happened...” she trailed off.

“My people got slaughtered,” Nati said it plainly, “It's not the first time it's happened to me, but the second time I was at least able to do more than fire a blaster in the general direction of a bunch of Storm Troopers.”

“I didn't know,” Cara said quietly.

“Not many do,” Nati leaned back in her chair, “It's not exactly something I advertise. Like, what would I even do for that? _Hello, my name's Nati, I could fire a blaster before I could walk because my village was raided so often that there weren't enough adults to try to protect it and I lost everything anyway.'_ It's a shitty opening line.”

“I can't disagree with that,” Cara wasn't sure what else to say.

“You could,” Nati looked in Cara's direction, the blankness of the helmet at odds with how much emotion was in Nati's every word, “but you'd be wasting both of our time.”

Cara really couldn't decide how she felt about Nati.

“Anyway,” Nati refocused the conversation, “we were planning. You'll do the talking, I can do the standing around and listening.”

“Can you?” Cara asked, “No offense.”

“I can,” Nati was suddenly _still_ , “I just prefer not to if I don't have to.”

Nati remained still to prove her point. It was downright unnerving; she seemed so much older when she was still, like the constant movement was her only link to whatever youth she had left in her heart.

“Understood,” Cara hoped she took that as permission to start moving around again, “He won't want to talk at the Guild-”

“Obviously,” Nati interrupted.

“-so inviting him to a different bar and buying him a drink is going to be our best way to start the conversation,” Cara finished.

“And from there we can try to get him to either invite us back to his, or we can go somewhere more private, like the tunnels or the lava flats,” Nati suggested.

“Precisely,” Cara nodded.

“I'll probably have to pick up a bounty while we're there,” Nati was drumming with her fingers again, “I'm _pretty_ recognizable with my armor and all, and Guild members are the biggest gossips I've ever me. If I don't pick up a bounty, half the sector will know by tomorrow.”

“I hadn't thought of that,” Cara admitted.

“The Guild is a steep learning curve,” Nati was _still_ drumming, “Very steep.”

Cara wondered if the finger drumming was something Mandalorians picked up from each other or if it was just a coincidence so many of them did it.

“Noted,” Cara realized she should probably say something.

It was almost too easy to come up with the plan. After days of all talk and no action, though, it was refreshing.

She still wasn't sure what to make of Nati, though. She'd been incredibly useful with building the jammer, and it had been her instinct to find Din once she saw the files that nearly shook the covert apart at its very foundation.

And yet, she still seemed unpredictable – not in the way that she might betray them, but in the sense that if Cara wasn't at least one step ahead of Nati's thinking, she'd lose sight of Nati's planning because Nati took such a sharp mental turn _nobody_ could follow.

Nati did not seem interested in conversation, so Cara tried to let the silence settle in.

If nothing else, this was going to be an interesting next handful of days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's go time y'all.


	9. Interlude: Code

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greef knows giving Cara and Nati the information they need goes against the Code, and he's having a bit of a personal crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhh it's morality spotlight hours with Greef!

The Guild Code, Greef believed, was what kept the Guild from falling into complete lawlessness. There were some bounties that raised more eyebrows than others and, sure, there were unquestionably some for beings whose only crime had been pissing off someone with enough money 

If it could be an open secret that the Republic and the Empire _and_ the New Republic all hand-selected their bounty hunters, then why should those with less power than the absolute seat of government for all of known space not be permitted to outsource their justice as well?

Not that all three heads of the universe, as they seemed to think of themselves, didn't _also_ put some bounties up through the Guild, too.

The Code wasn't complicated. Granted, yes, there were multiple parts to it, but the most important and the one Greef enforced with the most strength behind it was _Do not ask questions._

Not only did not asking questions give hunters less to give up should they get captured and turn out to be the type to crack under pressure, but it also let clients feel more secure in setting up contracts.

Those who violated the Code were stripped of their status and kicked out of the Guild with nothing that could possibly be twisted to suggest that they had left the Guild in good standing. After that, their fate was in the hands of the Guild members whose livelihoods the traitor had just jeopardized. 

Simple. Easy. Clean lines all the way down.

At least, that _was_ what he believed before he found himself on the receiving end of an e-web cannon as the result of, well, winding up violating the Code because he'd been on the receiving end of something that should have been impossible just a few hours prior.

Violating the Guild Code had saved his life and then nearly cost him his life in less than a day's span.

Point was, nothing was simple anymore. All the lines were smudged and it was _difficult_ to tell when a question should be asked, especially when he'd been out of practice in terms of formulating questions for decades now.

And so, when Cara and the new Mando had shown up together, Greef knew his life was about to get much more complicated.

They'd stayed on the outer edges of the bar for hours. Cara had ordered a few drinks, but the new Mando did not so much as life her helmet enough to take a sip of the whiskey she'd ordered. She held it at half an arm's length as she moved around the place.

The two of them stayed in easy line of sight from each other, together but not. A few of the hunters  
had quick conversations with Cara, polite things to show the former Marshal that they weren't afraid of the power the laws held.

They steered clear of the new Mando, and Greef couldn't blame them. Maybe she was a good conversationalist, unlike her predecessor. Maybe they assumed she was just as aloof, demanding, dramatic, and surly as her predecessor.

Her predecessor – Din was his name, he reminded himself – had been the best hunter in a several system radius. He was an easy man to be jealous of – unattached, strong, smart, quick, light on his feet yet able to remain solidly on the ground, and the man could pick up allies _anywhere._ He never seemed to rest. He barely seemed to pause. Even in the _after,_ when Greef had rebuilt his Guild chapter free from the tendrils of Empire holdouts, Din never rested. 

And this new Mando? She'd taken down a bounty hunters who'd been in the business longer than she'd been alive in a matter of _days_ while wearing fluorescent pink armor.

She'd also shown up to collect her payment and become a Guild member while soaking wet. She hadn't even bothered to dry off or change clothes, just. Shown up like that.

Her bounty was dry.

They were afraid of her, and he didn't blame them.

When it was time for Greef to go home for the night, they were still there.

He'd nodded to Cara, knowing she'd understand he knew she'd be following him from a safe distance. He'd assumed the new Mando would follow, too.

He was correct on both assumptions.

Cara had told him a lot of things – the bounty that wound up being a trap for the new Mando, the bounty he'd given to Din and his compatriot being a droid instead of a person, how deeply the Empire's  
claws were still sunk into everything despite their supposed neutrality, to name a few things – and also _didn't_ tell him a lot of things.

He could tell she was withholding more than she was sharing with him; there was a terror in her eyes that hadn't been there before. Something – more likely several somethings – had happened that even former Marshal Cara Dune didn't come out of unscathed. This was a woman who'd lost her _entire planet_ and kept swinging.

Greef realized that, whatever it was, it was going to come for him eventually.

The New Mando just...stood in the background the entire time. Several steps behind Cara, her unseeing helmet impossible to ignore. Her ability to hold herself completely still was unnerving. There was no visible rise or fall of her chest to indicate she was still breathing under all that armor.

Cara did not ask anything of him, not directly, but he understood why they were there.

If they were going to help Din and the rest of his covert save their entire people, they needed him to not just _break_ the Code.

They needed him to completely shatter the Code.

If he did this, if he gave him the information they needed, he put himself and the hunters who came to him for work in more danger than he could even try to imagine.

He considered himself a tough man, a survivor in his own right. Here he'd staked his claim, managed to create life for himself on the lava flows, fought tooth and nail to keep his Guild chapter afloat.

They'd rallied to him, once, against Din. Every single hunter on the planet in a coordinated attack against a Mandalorian and a baby.

In hindsight, he could see where there were, at best, some moral faults in the stand they took.

And they had been judged accordingly.

These Mandalorians, Din's people, every last one of them had shown up, willing to throw their lives away for one man and a baby. And oh, had they paid dearly, these Mandalorians, and he'd been ignorant of their fight to the death.

And now their existence hinged on his choice again.

Somehow, it felt worse knowing it hinged on his choice before disaster happened. At least the first time, he could claim ignorance and know he was telling the truth.

He understood why Cara stood by Din like she was. Just being on the peripherals of Din's saga had changed everything about how he lived his life. It was like even his baseline beliefs had changed without his permission or input. 

He'd stayed as far away as he could from the epicenter; he was not a hero, not a world-shifter, not someone destined to become a legend a small handful of generations from now.

He refused to be pulled into the shadows of someone who was all those things.

But for Cara – and for several other people, judging by how Cara talked – they'd been pulled in and their lives were now supporting Din's. They were likely better for it, but Greef had never been the better man.

The conversation went on so long the sun had started to come up. Cara offered to finish the conversation once they'd all slept a bit.

He'd told Cara and the New Mando they could stay the night at his place, and they'd accepted. Cara was sprawled on his couch, face down, one leg over the couch arm and one arm dangling to the floor. The New Mando was sitting with her legs crossed and her head and back to a wall. He couldn't tell if she was asleep, meditating, or what but he wasn't going to wind up waking her to ask if she wanted to sleep somewhere more comfortable.

Greef? He couldn't sleep.

He only had a few hours to decide if he was going to be the better man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want everyone to rehash the same too-small pool information over and over because they're _trying_ to get more information, so I decided to side-step Nati and Cara doing that again with Greef.
> 
> Also, sleep for everyone lately!
> 
> I might need sleep myself.


	10. Steward with the Broken Code

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nati isn't sure what she thinks of Greef. She knows they need him to break the Guild Code, though, and that's going to be the tricky part.

Greef hadn't slept all night. It was easy to tell. His cup of caf smelled so strong that is might as well have been concentrate he hadn't bothered to dilute. When Nati looked at – never into – his eyes, they told her of a man who was in another world entirely, his body stuck on Nevarro, autopilot engaged. His movements were slow, deliberate, like if he just let his arms and legs do as they pleased he'd make a mess of any task he tried to do.

She could understand it, though. If he didn't believe Din's future was going to wind up causing as many waves across the galaxy as she knew was going to happen, Greef was being asked to strip himself of the very foundation he'd build his life upon for a single person.

That he hadn't slept told her he was strongly considering doing just that.

He was conflicted, that much anyone could have told, but he was also worried about what was right. Nati bit her cheek so she wouldn't laugh as she realized _that_ was what Greef was worried about.

There was no such thing as right in this universe. Nor were there such things as wrong or good or bad or even evil. There was only selfish and selfless, and selfish people were the ones who created problems that were so often left to the selfless to solve.

Everything else – Creeds, Codes, even Laws – codified how to be selfless for those who selflessness did not come naturally.

The rules and rituals and even restrictions that came with those codifications, they weren't meant to _oppress_ people, but rather to weave themselves into the everyday lives of those who adhered to them. Constant reminders that there was a codified set of behaviors and expectations that were meant to put the needs of the many above the needs of the one. Only by looking out for each other would societies survive.

The problem was, selfish people made Creeds and Codes and Laws, too, and far too many of _those_ people had the skill, influence, and manpower to write themselves into society as selfless only to show themselves when it was too late for their people to do anything about it.

She wasn't sure which type of person wrote the Guild's Code. Or the covert's Creed, but this was about finding out what type of person Greef was, not the Armorer.

She knew it wasn't Greef who wrote the Guild Code. He was powerful, but not _that_ powerful. Still, to be beholden to it like he was, to be a sort-of steward to the Code. He'd given up a part of himself for this position, and he'd been without whatever part that was to even make a guess as to what part of him that might have been.

She wanted to talk with Cara about how long they'd stay and wait for Greef to make his decision without Greef overhearing. People got nervous when you started talking in low whispers in their general presence, and one of the last things they needed right now was for Greef to start getting _nervous._

Cara had just woken up and she immediately started _cooking_ in Greef's kitchen. Greef sat down at the raised half-counter that bracketed his kitchen from the rest of his little place. It seemed like a decision his autopilot had made.

Someone's cooking. Let me wait for food.

Nati decided to wait next to him.

She wasn't sure yet if she'd take off her helmet to eat here or if she'd seclude herself in the 'fresher to do so. It would be far from the first time she'd done so, and she had no doubts that Greef's would be cleaner than the last one she'd eaten in.

Diner 'freshers were just the _worst._

Despite being reliant on Greef for her most lucrative contracts, she did not trust him. It was the lack of questions, honestly. He was a cog in a machine who thought he was running independently. And perhaps he was capable of such a thing; Din and Cara certainly seemed to believe so.

As much as Nati trusted them, Din especially, she'd form her own opinions of Greef from experience.

And experience was something she knew she was sorely lacking.

Cara was making a bunch of disc-shaped bread-ish thing that needed to sizzle in a thin layer of oil. Like most things that sizzled in oil, it smelled delicious.

Nati had all her filters turned down. Learning how to do that had been a fantastic enhancement of her day-to-day life. Even if she hadn't sworn the Creed – and let's be honest, she was a little shaky on the Creed right now on the best of days – she knew the value of hiding her face. She was, by the virtues of chance and tenacity – a Mandalorian.

And Mandalorians? They were a people whose powers and skills preceded any given individual. Anywhere Nati showed up in her armor, hundreds if not thousands of generations of _stories_ cleared a path for her.

“When I make these for Winta,” Cara pulled Nati out of her own hear, “I'll chop up little bits of fruit and make a smiley face with them right before I flip them,” she flipped one of the discs, “stays in and cooks with it. She'll outgrow it eventually.”

“You see certain,” Greef said.

“All children do,” Cara shrugged and flipped another one, “One day all the cute things their parents and-or caregivers did for them is embarrassing, like they don't want to be seen as a child anymore and depriving themselves of things they enjoy is the quickest way to do that.”

“Ah, yes,” Greef chuckled, “I have some memories from when I was that young.”

“I was hell,” Cara was smiling, “Couldn't wait to become a legal adult so I could run away and going the rebels.”

“Now why doesn't that surprise me?” Greef picked up his caf and held it with both hands.

“Never really grew out of it,” Cara flipped the last disc, “Winta's a good kid.”

“I've never seen you as happy as you are with them,” Greef didn't say Omera's name.

“Never been so happy,” Cara paused what she was doing, “I'd thought maybe, you know, save up enough money, bring them here, have a life away from somewhere the Empire still had connections.”

“Life had other plans for you,” Greef's voice was empty.

“Well,” Cara took the first disc off and put it on a serving plate, “when this is all over we may yet settle down somewhere the Empire no longer exists.”

“The Empire's always going to exist,” Greef huffed, “So long as there's people who think they stopped the tides of war with the money to throw at them, there will be the Empire.”

“Tides of war,” Nati repeated, “What do you mean, the tides of war?”

“Clones,” Greef turned to her, “and droids. Two armies that could go on forever, making more and more soldiers. No planet was safe, no people, no _crop_. The war wiped entire villages and cities off the map. Entire people, too.”

“The Empire also wiped out entire people,” Nati interrupted, “Not just Mandalorians, so many races, so many villages. If they wanted their resources, their skills, they'd just _take._ And if parents fought them, they'd shoot babies in their cribs, sir, to _coax them_ into compliance. The babies, sir. Not the older children, not the grandparents. Babies.”

Cara and Greef stared at her, jaws slack and fear in their eyes.

Nati took a deep breath and took her helmet off so she could make sure Greef knew she was looking him _in_ the eyes when she said the next part.

“I understand, sir, that there will _always_ be an Empire,” she set her jaw for a moment, “but that does not mean we have to _stand by_ and let it propagate. We have the power, the wit, the desire to fight. We just...we can't afford to go in blind. All of us, sir, all of us who want to live, we know the Empire is the one that creates horrors to create power.”

“And you and your people, what, they're going to stop these horrors from happening again?” Greef asked her.

“Every single one we find,” Nati sat up a little straighter, “We can't get them all, no, and we know that, but just because was can't get all of them doesn't me was can't make a difference.”

Cara reached as far forward as she could to place the serving plate with all the little discs between Nati and Greef.

Greef put his cup down, folder his hands in his lap, and turned to properly face Nati.

Nati held the eye contact. It was terrifying, not knowing what Greef was seeing in her eyes. Was she the hunter right now, the young woman capable of impossible things? Was she still that terrified child who learned to fire a blaster before she learned to walk? Was she something else entirely, something she'd never be able to see in herself?

Whatever he saw, he said, “I'll have a data stick ready for you before the sun sets today.”

“Eat before it gets cold,” Cara told them.

Nati picked up one of the discs, tore off a small piece, and popped it in her mouth.

“Oh this is good,” Nati told Cara, “Thank you.”

She was thanking the both of them, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My gods this child's never had pancakes someone kidnap her for a week and let her have a condensed belated childhood experience.


	11. Warrior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cara and Nati linger on Nevarro for a little while before they go back to the covert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short transition one.

Greef, true to his word, handed a data stick to Cara while there was still light in the sky.

“You be careful with this,” Greef told her.

“No shit,” Cara huffed.

“And you,” Greef turned to Nati and held out a small handful tracking fobs, “these should be safe.”

“Nothing's safe,” Nati said as she took the fobs from him, “If I wanted safety I would not have sworn the creed.”

Greef made a sound like he'd just remembered it was wise to be a little scared of any given Mandalorian at all times.

“Will you leave now?” Greef asked.

“Eh,” Cara looked to Nati, who shrugged, “You might be able to convince me to stay for a drink or two.”

Greef laughed and lead them to a different bar.

–

Cara was glad they'd stayed for a few drinks. It was nice, in its own way, to drink with Greef as a friend and talk about things that had nothing to do with trying to control the way the universe was shaped.

Nati, still unwilling to take her helmet off outside of private residences, ordered an entire bottle of whisky and kept it close to her all night.

The goodbyes had been brief but friendly. Nati had stayed on the edges of them as if she was unsure how she fit into this entire thing.

In the ship, Nati had helped Cara get the ship up and running in record time. No talking, no awkward moments where they both reached for the same controls.

This version of Nati was a terrifying one.

A true Mandalorian, no trace of youth left in her.

“What was all that about?” Cara asked once they'd been in the hyperspace lane for a little while.

“All what about?” Nati asked.

“At Greef's, your whole...” she paused, “It happened to you, didn't it?”

“I had siblings, yeah,” Nati's voice was not the same when she had her helmet on; it lacked the raw feeling, now, and Cara hated it. 

Asking Nati to open her old wounds twice like that bordered on cruel, Cara knew, but she felt like she had to know what made Nati work like she was working right now.

Din had been easy to understand, in the beginning. He had a child that his Creed demanded he care for. It was an impossible task, though, for a Mandalorian to raise a Jedi who'd barely be beyond its toddler stage by the time Din was dead...which meant Din _needed_ to find another Jedi to care for this child. Until then, the child meant everything to Din. Ensuring the child was cared for superseded Din's basic needs.

Nati, though, she was so much more than a beroya. There was a righteousness to her that she seemed unaware of. It was not a zealous righteousness, thankfully, but Cara didn't think it was that righteousness that made Nati tick.

“Are we still working?” Nati asked, “Here and now, I mean.”

“Not really,” Cara decided, “Not much we can do in hyperspace.”

“Okay,” Nati's posture shifted entirely. She seemed smaller like that, tired even, and Cara's heart hurt for the kid.

She said none of this aloud, of course, but there must have been something that gave away what she was thinking because Nati said: “I don't want pity.”

“What do you want?” Cara figured the direct route was the best route, or at least the most efficient.

Nati looked down and fidgeted by tugging at the edges of her armor like she was trying to get the pieces to lay perfectly.

“Ask me again after we go through whatever's on that data stick,” Nati finally told her.

Her answer made sense, Cara figured. She'd been the first member of the covert to see the files they'd managed to download. She'd kept her head about her and gone to find Din. Her instincts were good, but there was no telling what damages had been done.

And now they had another unknown pile of data waiting to be gone through.

“How'd you become beroya?” Cara asked. Nati laughed before she told her the story of how she all but hijacked the first ship off the planet she could find and got mistaken for a bounty hunter almost immediately.

This kid – Cara kept thinking her of a kid despite how clearly she was a grown woman – had taught herself hot to hunt, how to fly, how to _survive_ all alone in a strange world. No one to teach her customs or languages, no one to show her how to avoid dying of exposure when she couldn't afford a place to sleep or get back to her ship.

And when Paz found her by chance, she started going after bigger bounties so when the Armorer found a place for everyone to rally they could also afford supplies like medicine and food. Din wasn't coming back, Nati knew, and even though she'd only just gotten her armor forged a few weeks before the raid and had hardly earned it or the role, she wasn't going to shy away from the duty.

“With the armor on,” Nati finished her story, “I'm not the youngest fully-armored Mandalorian anymore. I'm _beroya._ My age doesn't matter. Just the covert's trust in my ability to provide.”

_A warrior,_ Cara thought, _She's a warrior through and through._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy more going through unknown files!


	12. Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~~Who needs a summary when you've got start notes like that~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's unknown file sorting time again!

It was nice to see both Nati and Cara come back safe. Din, Omera, and the Armorer met them outside.

Peli and Fen were close behind them. They did several sweeps of the ship to make sure they didn't pick up any trackers. Nobody had asked them to, they just...showed up and started climbing on the ship.

Din made a note to start having rendezvous to check for trackers _before_ coming back to the covert.

Thankfully, there were no trackers.

As soon as Peli and Fen gave the all-safe message, Cara produced a data stick.

“More files that might destroy what little foundation I have left, yay,” Nati's sarcasm send a little shiver of fear down Din's spine.

“Alright Mand'alor,” the Armorer turned to Din, “What's next?”

“We go gather everyone,” Din told her, “We go through whatever's on that stick together. And we go from there.”

No more hiding, he'd promised himself. No more lies, no more deciding what information everyone got to learn and what information stayed hidden. If they, not just as a covert but as a people, wanted to become a force in and of themselves, if they wanted Mandalorians to be _the_ warrior race once more, they had to be able to withstand new information _together._ Not filtered, not belated.

He wasn't sure it was the greatest idea, but he had to try.

–

Omera, Cara, Nati, Din, Paz, and Cobb were sitting on one of the many tables while they waited for everyone else. It felt like most of the covert had already arrived. It was crowded, loud, and more chaos than assembly. Peli, the Armorer, and Fen were, in theory, rounding up the stragglers.

Winta and the Foundlings were told to wait for the meeting to be over. Unless there was an emergency, they were expected to stay in the mess hall...that had conveniently been stocked with treats and fresh fruits in easy reach.

And, really, what child in the galaxy is going to say no to that?

Of the Mandalorians in the room, only Din had his helmet off. It was a power thing, Omera theorized. Din wanted everyone to be able to see that he was not trying to hide any fears he had from them. 

Or perhaps it was a signal: new things were in the process of usurping the old, traditions included. 

It could have been anything, really, and if Omera was going to ask 

“Say, Nati,” Paz's voice was quiet, “when you shocked Din, you said you'd hitched a ride.”

“I had,” Nati nodded.

“Why?” Paz asked, “You have your own ship.”

“I have some, uh, some landing problems,” Nati ducked her head, “If I get to a planet and can't find my mark, if there's a ship going the same direction, I'll catch a ride with them. People are _surprisingly_ willing to give someone in armor a ride.”

Paz cleared his throat.

“Well obviously I'm not going to be doing that _anymore!_ ” Nati blanched, “I see now there are some serious security issues with climbing on the first available ship.”

“Not saying I didn't do the same,” Paz told her, “but yeah, seems like there are just a few issues with that.”

“You did your ship hopping before I came in possession of the damned thing,” Din wasn't calling the darksaber by name, “So, probably a bit safer.”

“Do I get a partial pass because I did _most_ of my ship hopping before that happened, too?” Nati asked.

“Wait,” Paz seemed to have only been partly listening, “You would have had to take your own ship from the covert. Where'd you leave it?”

“Like, three planets behind where I was, uh, a little shocked to run into you,” Nati told them.

Din laughed so loud and hard the entire covert stopped their conversations to stare at him.

“Shocked to run into us,” Din shook his head and Paz cuffed him upside his helmet.

Cobb sighed like it was going to be a long wait until everyone was assembled.

–

“Alright,” Fen was the last one in the room, “That's everyone. Even checked the crawl spaces.”

“We have crawl spaces?” Din asked.

“Why is that what you're focusing on?” Paz hissed.

Peli resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands so she didn't have to watch everything fall apart before it even got started.

“There wasn't anyone in the crawl spaces,” Fen whispered to Peli. Peli couldn't help but smile just a little.

Din cleared his throat.

He caught everyone up on what Cara and Nati had been able to do together, blessedly skimming over what Nati had said to Greef that seemed to have been what pushed Greef into deciding it was better to break the Guild Code than to try to keep his sense of normalcy intact.

“And so,” Din held up the data stick, “we have not gone through this yet. You all have a choice: you can stay, go through the contents with us, and see what we learn. Or,” he paused for a fraction of a moment, “you can walk away. You can learn what you want, when you want, knowing that the answers to whatever questions you ask will be filtered, condensed.”

A collective murmur overtook the room, so many voices talking to no one in particular at once

“There is no shame in walking away,” Din's voice rose above everything, halted every single fragmented conversation in its tracks, “After everything, there will be no blame either. Choice, though, I will preserve for as many of us as I can, for as long as I can.”

He stopped talking, then, and waited. 

A few left, the room silent save for the shuffling of bodies. Then a few more left – all people Peli did not yet know by name, people who hadn't been in the war room.

Even if blame had been an option, she could not have blamed them. Even the most fortunate in the room had lost everything several times over.

Leaving was not an act of cowardice or even avoidance.

It was an act of self-preservation.

When everybody who was still in the room was still, their collective attention focused on Din, Din let out a small sigh before he started speaking again.

“Alright,” he looked around the room, “let's do this.”

–

They'd moved into the war room almost as soon as they started going through the files. They were gathered around tables, the files having been duplicated and each group had been assigned a chunk of files.

So far it all looked like a collection of tracking fob data – who'd set each bounty, where the bounty had been, there the _tracking fob_ had been – Nati immediately destroyed the fob she'd brought with her and screamed about how glad she was she'd never come home with a fob before.

Nothing exciting had happened since, almost blessedly. They'd taken to mapping bounty locations by hand. Omera had been the one who'd suggested color-coding everything.

Only, they hadn't had enough colors, so they'd taken to affixing tiny pieces of different colored leaves to maps with fern sap.

“One day,” Fen said from somewhere behind the machine they were trying to beat into submission, “I'm going to actually have a functioning war room for us.”

“And until then you're going to keep hitting things until they start working again?” Peli called from the other side of the room.

“Pretty much,” Fen sounded like their next step be might setting the machine giving them so much trouble on fire to see if it helped.

“It's your efforts,” Peli's shrug was an audible thing.

“Will you two quit it?” Din stopped what he was doing to fuss at the two of them.

“Likely not!” Fen didn't miss a beat.

Din groaned and put his head down on the table.

“Din, you're in the sap,” Cara didn't look up from what she was doing a few tables over.

Din groaned again, sat up, and sure enough the map was stuck to his helmet.

“Alright,” Paz said as the Armorer peeled the map free carefully, “come on, break time.”

“We don't have time for a break,” Din grumbled.

“That's when you need one the most,” Cara still didn't look over.

“We all do,” Fen said with one final-sounding hammer strike, “At least, that's what I'm guessing.”

“If we start doing this sleep-deprived we're going to start making preventable mistakes,” Cara pointed out.

“And _that _we cannot afford,” Peli added as she rose to her feet.__

__“Alright,” Din conceded, “Sleep if you can, rest if you can't. Everyone who can, make it back down here after first meal tomorrow. Data sticks all go in the bucket by Fen's console. They'll be in secure storage when they're not in use.”_ _

__“Don't you trust us?” Someone asked._ _

__“I don't trust _this building_ Din gestured around him, “You've seen the water damage.”_ _

__“Right,” the one who'd asked ducked down, expecting at least a reprimand._ _

__Din didn't give one._ _

__“Who's securing the sticks?” Cobb asked at a whisper._ _

__“Haven't gotten that far,” Din told them, “I can take them to the ship, keep them well away from anything that might flood.”_ _

__“We'll go with you,” Paz offered, grinning._ _

__“Subtle,” the Armorer hissed._ _

__Din sputtered and stammered and Paz slapped him on the back like that was going to help him focus._ _

__Once everyone else had left and it was just Din, Cobb, Paz, the Armorer, Peli, Fen, Nati, and a bucket of data sticks, Din picked up the bucket and started to head out._ _

__“You two,” he turned back around to face Peli and the Armorer, “Get some sleep, so help me.”_ _

__“No promises,” Peli called after him._ _

__“Subtle,” Paz called over his shoulder._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd we're back to being subtle!
> 
> Five points to the person who guesses who the next chapter is going to.


	13. Come Down on Me Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din needs to unwind. Paz and Cobb know exactly how to do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like the crew, I'm not at all subtle. Of course it was these three.

Paz was fairly certain he was going to throw the bucket of damned sticks if Din didn't put it down the instant they were in their quarters.

It amazed Paz, sometimes, how quickly he'd adjusted to calling the space _their quarters._ He'd been alone for so long; he'd accepted he'd be alone the rest of his life well before the purge, and after? After he convinced himself he was better for it. Alone, at least, left him with one less hurt to compensate for while he tried to scrape something like a life back together.

He'd circled Din for quite some time, granted, a sort-of infatuation turned need that masqueraded as loathing because he didn't know how else to protect himself, but he'd still been resigned to spending whatever was left of his time alone.

But now?

Now he had not one but _two_ people he'd tear the universe apart for, and it had been a sudden thing that he'd nearly tried to fight off.

If someone – anyone – had told him going to Tatooine was going to rip his life apart in ways the raid on the covert couldn't dream of reaching and he'd _be thankful for it,_ he would have shot them on the spot. He wasn't sure he'd wanted his life at that point, all his decades of training , all his honor and his thirst for glory had all been taken apart at the seams. He'd _lost_ and there would be no redemption.

Or so he thought.

Now, though. Now was not the time for Paz to both be thankful his shadows did not better him and angry at himself for sinking so low in the first place.

Now was the time to help _Din_ not shake apart.

He was still going to throw that damned bucket if Din took to long setting it down, though. 

Blessedly, Din dropped the bucket – quite literally – as soon as they'd entered their quarters. It sent a thrill through Paz, how easily it came to call the space _theirs._ Not Din's, Not Cobb's, Not Din-and-Cobb's, **theirs.**

Cobb was quickest to act, his hands already undoing Din's armor like he had the process memorized.

Paz started stripping his own armor, but before he was halfway done he heard Cobb whisper _strip yourself_ to Din before making his way to Paz and helping him out of _his_ armor, too, and Paz made a mental note to one day take Cobb apart like they'd taken him apart, like they were about to take Din apart.

But now? Now was for Din.

Paz was thankful for Cobb's help, the process going twice as fast. Paz was out of his blacks in a heartbeat; Cobb took no time in stripping his own clothes, the oldest of the three of them somehow also the fastest.

Cobb, again, knowing what needs to be done before the need becomes wasted space, puts a hand on Din's sternum and starts backing Din up towards the bed and Din goes willingly, a warrior and a king melting under Cobb's attention.

When the back of Din's legs hit the edge of the bed, Din let himself fall back. He landed with a _whumph_ and his legs splayed, needy, inviting.

Cobb dropped to his knees and Paz's cock twitched, expectant, _watching._

Cobb grabbed the back of Din's thighs, squeezed, and lifted Din's legs up then apart. Cobb's fingers dug into Din's muscles, pulled trails of tight skin like it twas pointing to every point of contact Cobb had with Din, a map of Cobb's _want._ Paz groaned, the idea of Cobb mapping Din by touch like that almost too heady.

Paz watched Din's hips cant upward, heard Din whine. Cobb bowed down and then _kept going lower._ Paz couldn't see exactly what was happening but Din _keened_ and Paz could fill in the blanks.

He watched, slowly stroking his own cock while he watched Din writhe and moan and try to paw at Cobb, try to find some sort of purchase. Paz thought that maybe, just maybe, he'd find a way to anchor Din, but right now he just wanted to _watch_.

From his vantage point, Paz watched Cobb's head bob and weave and heard the telltale sound of tongue on flesh, wet and fast and _telling._

The more Cobb worked at Din's hole, the shorter and breathier Din's moans got, the more desperate Din's moans got until they became little more than high-pitched _ah-ah-ah_ s. Cobb pulled back and said, _“Paz, do you want to fuck him?”_ and Paz couldn't answer with words, could only step forward, still slowly stroking his cock. Once he was _right there_ , Cobb moved out of the way, paused to suck Paz's cock – Paz made a sound he couldn't have replicated if either of his boys begged him to – for a few strokes before getting out of Paz's way, Paz's hands replacing Cobb's as he spread Din's legs further apart.

Paz knelt on the very edge of the bed, his balance precarious, as he all but shoved Din back just far enough to gain a better balance. It was still precarious, but Paz wanted to fuck Din more than he wanted to ensure he didn't fall.

He took his hands off Din's thighs to guide his dick into Din, Cobb's spit still there, still wet all over Din's hold and Paz's cock and there was a much deeper burn of friction and resistance than had they prepared properly but Paz wanted to fuck Din and he wanted to fuck Din _now_ and Din seemed just as keen, tried to pull Paz closer, bury Paz inside of him and who was Paz to refuse or delay such a request.

Once he was completely buried in Din, Cobb came up behind Paz, braced Paz's back with his entire body, Cobb's cock hard against his spine. Cobb wrapped his arms around Paz's waist and nestled his chin into the crook of Paz's neck, securing a far better viewing angle than Paz had thought to.

Paz wrapped his arms around the back of Din's thighs, bringing them forward and gripping his own wrists to hug Din's legs against his chest. Din gasped squeezed Paz with his legs and Paz turned his head to kiss the closest patch of Din he could manage.

“Good, Din?” Paz asked.

Din nodded and whimpered and tried to fuck himself on Paz but the angled wouldn't allow it, kept him almost still, kept him at Paz's mercy.

“Don't think,” Paz said it like a command and Din _obeyed._

Paz's thrusts were slow at first, careful things to judge how rough he could be without _harming_ Din.

Cobb bit down on Paz's neck and Paz _howled_ and there was no mercy to be found, just need and want colliding to form a passion that had Paz's hips snapping, had him fucking Din like he fought, strong and sure and and like he was _in charge._

The sounds Din made were _delicious_ and Paz had some awareness that he, too was moaning and panting and the room was out of focus, his head swimming. He felt Din tighten around him and he started praising Din, let the words fall out without giving them any thought.

“Fuck, Din,” he breathed, “So fucking tight, fuck, so good, Din, so good, yeah, ah, fuck _me_ , fuck, Din, Din, oh Din...”

Even his own words were lost to him when Cobb bit down again, harder this time until Paz thought he was going to break the skin and Paz _wanted_ that so he whined a _please_ and Cobb _did_ break the skin and Paz came with a shout, his orgasm catching him completely off guard.

Paz gripped Din even harder, coming in Din as Din whimpered and begged and threw his head back.

“Take your time,” Cobb said to Paz, voice low, almost a growl, “but I'm going to fuck him, too.”

Paz whined and extracted his softening cock from Din, let Cobb grab him by the hair and _throw _him to the side before he worked Din open with two fingers, then three, then withdrew his fingers and buried his cock in Din. Paz thought about his Cobb's lube was his cum and whined.__

__Paz stumbled backwards until his back found a wall he could lean on so he could watch Cobb fuck Din, he, too, with no mercy to his pace. Din was screaming and begging for more and his back and neck were arched, Din's fingers scrambling at the bedding as Cobb kept Din steady, a hand on the top of each of Din's thighs._ _

__Paz wasn't sure how long he watched them, Cobb fucking and Din keening and the both of them so fucking perfect, but Din was trying to tell Cobb he was going to come in these little half-words and Paz watched as Din came, splashing all over his own stomach and chest._ _

__Cobb came quickly after Din, as if he'd been holding himself back to make sure Din came first.  
Paz shoved himself off the wall with his shoulders and more or less tumbled to where Din and Cobb were still tangled, panting. Paz helped them untangled themselves so he and Cobb could ease Din back and up until he was completely on the bed. He laid on one side of Din and Cobb laid on the other side. They both shifted to lay on their sides, facing each other, then leaned their bodies forward so they covered Din entirely._ _

__Din hummed, pleased, and settled into the bed._ _

__Paz smiled, an honest, relaxed smile as he and Cobb touched foreheads, their arms over each others backs or under Din's neck like a makeshift pillow. Din was so much smaller than either of them, so easy to smother every inch of him, so easy to _engulf_ him._ _

__It didn't take long until Din's breathing evened out and _shit_ they were going to be gross in the morning but it was worth it, to have Din so pliant and well-fucked and _trusting_ and, most importantly _loved._ _ _

__Din wasn't King here, wasn't the Mandalorian on whose shoulders the weight leading the first charge into a war against an unknown enemy, wasn't the impossible man whose destiny seemed to be built on telling the stars they were wrong._ _

__He was Din. Paz's Din. Cobb's Din._ _

___Their Din._ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man just WAIT until Paz takes Cobb apart like Cobb needs but keeps sidestepping.
> 
> Chapter title bastardized from 'Come Down' by The Glorious Sons


	14. Buffet Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peli's hungry. Fen's stressed. The Armorer's stuck in her own head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that, post-surgery, vets will make rats their own tiny cone of shame out of x-ray film? Because I know that now and I haven't stopped laughing at my poor boy. He's home and safe and tumor-free.

Peli was pretty sure that, had Paz not called for a break that had taken the form of _we're done for the day,_ **she** may have been the one to set something alight despite Fen having been the one of the two of them who sounded more frustrated.

It was difficult; they were both mechanics by trade, not electricians, and while it was true that wires are wires and machines are machines, it was only a technical truth. In practice, that technicality gave them no advantages.

Peli had never believed in any sort of higher power. Gods, spirits, Maker. Even the Force she was a little shaky on in terms of if it was actually some sort of sorcery, as she'd heard Din, Paz, and the Armorer call it a few times when they thought no one was listening, or some incredibly advanced technology whose secrets had been lost to time. 

Her views on the probability that there were higher, unknowable spiritual overlords existing as active participants in the universe was changing, though, because there was no other explanation for why the covert's entire structure hadn't blown up or burst into flames by now.

Sleep, she knew, was going to be fantastic tonight. It may take her a while to get there and it may not last long, but whatever she got was going to be fantastic.

But first, food.

They'd been in the War Room all day, Peli trying to fix machines she didn't understand while knowing the consequence failure could run anywhere between disappointment and condemning everyone to death. She'd undertaken her work while everyone else, save Fen, parsed the data, made maps with leaves and grumbled at each other, only not yelling because they did not want to be sent out for acting like children.

It was interesting, how Din asserted his power. There were no threats, no belittling, no posturing. He was quiet – at least when compared to most of the covert - and reserved. His people viewed him as their leader because he didn't force himself into that position; it had been well-earned. 

At this point, though, Peli was convinced Din could have been pushy, could have been cruel, and they would still looked to him as their King. They would have thought they deserved it, Peli thought, and would have punished themselves in private, harming themselves until they believed they were _better._

Peli was glad Din was a good man.

Peli was also glad Din was so easily convinced it was time to go to bed. Perhaps – almost definitely if she was being honest – Din was not going to bed in the same way Peli was.

But first, food.

She'd gotten off-track in her pursuit because she'd started thinking about the type of King Din was becoming instead of the thing where she and everyone else in the War Room had been there _all day_ without food or anything to drink. Hell, most of the Mandalorians didn't even take off their helmets during the whole thing.

The Armorer hadn't taken off her helmet in front of Peli since Peli had gotten back from searching the ships for trackers. She'd wondered, when she had the time and the energy to do so, what she did wrong. It had to be something she did, right? They were fine then they were _great_ and now...nothing?

It had only been a few days, but there was still a sense of loss around it. It was the first and only time they'd shared a bed, Peli decided. The contact and the intimacy had been too much; the Armorer hadn't been ready and Peli had done little more than _want._

Speaking of harming one's self until they believed they were _better_...

The mess hall was busier than usual at this late hour, everyone from the War Room who hadn't been hauled off to fuck the stress away for a few hours apparently also deciding food was the way to go. 

Peli grabbed a plate and weaved her way through the mess, picking up little bit of food and putting them on her plate. She loved the free style of how food was served here, the trust required. It would be easy, if someone was selfish, to create a food shortage or at the very least cause those who ate latest to accept they'd go to bed hungry because their schedule ran later than the bulk of the covert.

But that didn't happen. Whoever cooked all the food seemed to know exactly how much everyone would eat.

Peli knew her food would be cold, but that was fine. Nobody had gotten sick from eating cold food here, at least not that Peli knew of. Some of it wasn't quite her tastes, but what choice did she have? There was no room to be picky here, not for her. These people, these Mandalorians, had every reason to shun outsiders like her, and she worried if she wasn't useful to them she'd start to wear out her welcome.

Fen appeared beside her suddenly, almost like a reverse ghost, gone one moment then there the next.

“How's your machines going?” Fen asked.

“I have no idea,” Peli laughed because crying would take too much energy, “I haven't brought the Empire down on our heads, so it's going better than the worst-case scenario.”

“Sounds about how mine's going,” Fen grumbled, “We're going to need new parts if we're going to set up an actual War Room.”

“You mean, instead of making maps with leaves?” Peli asked.

“Exactly,” Fen nodded.

“I have to say, the leaves are genius,” Peli smiled for the first time all day. It was Fen's turn to laugh, their head thrown back, very back of the helmet clicking against their back armor plate as they did so.

The Armorer joined them, no food or plate, flanking Peli on her other side.

“Alor,” Fen stood just shy of at attention.

“Fen,” the Armorer nodded.

Peli wasn't sure what to say. _Cyare_ felt right but the Armorer hadn't given any indication that she wanted their...whatever this was...to be public knowledge. They weren't Din or Paz or Cobb. They didn't do the thing they did where they touched and fawned and supported each other physically in front of everyone when things got rough. They held each other at the waist on strange planets and linked pinkies in front of those they trusted – or at least traveled with – when those who had no idea how much Din's company had changes at their very cores waited just outside their lives.

“Hey,” she decided was the safest greeting, “How's everything going with the files?”

“Slowly,” the Armorer told her, “what about the machines?”

“We haven't had a worst-case scenario,” Peli answered honestly.

“I think I have enough spare parts to melt down and cast a whole new damned projector,” Fen added, “if I knew how to do that.”

“I'm a _mechanic,_ ” Peli wasn't whining; Peli did _not_ whine, “This is. We need an engineer, maybe five.”

“Good news is we're both smart mechanics,” Fen bumped Peli's shoulder, “We'll figure this out.”

“Don't really have any other choice,” Peli snagged something that looked like a small desert and put it on the edge of her tray, “Failure isn't an option in this.”

“Usually nobody likes a smart mechanic,” Fen sighed, a tired thing, “They like fast mechanics, capable mechanics, but smart ones?”

“Smart ones must be spies at worst and too lazy to become an actual engineer at best,” Peli answered, “Generally not seen as worth anyone's time or money.”

“So you learn how to be average,” Fen continued, “You know what I like about you?” Fen didn't wait for an answer, “You've held onto that smart side, didn't let it get, you know, dull.”

“Advantage of living alone,” Peli stared at the wall to avoid glancing at the Armorer, “Nobody who decided they liked an average mechanic to keep the mask on,” Peli winced, “Er, maybe not the best metaphor, I am so sorry.”

Fen laughed, a loud, free sound, and clapped Peli on the back.

“I get it,” Fen said once they stopped laughing, “And, hey, good on you.”

“How'd you keep your from dulling?” Peli asked.

“I was young, when the Purge started,” Fen's voice was suddenly dark, almost lifeless, absolutely terrifying when held against their normal brightness, “Hadn't had a lot of time to develop how to hide it, but with the covert? It's easy to disappear, always something to work on, something o be fixed. I've got the helmet computers down to an art, but that took years,” Fen took a deep breath and turned to the Armorer, “Anyway, alor, sorry, you asked how the machines were and we kind of went off there.”

“Once we know more about what we're facing, you two can do a scrap run,” the Armorer told them, “if you want to, that it.”

“A scrap run sounds like a fantastic idea,” Fen's brightness was back, “What do you think, Peli?”

“After building a jammer with tree sap I'm willing to try anything,” Peli shrugged.

“Perfect,” Fen bumped her shoulder together, “First thing I'm looking for is a how-to manual on fixing these damned things without having them connecting to their original or default systems.”

''First thing I'm looking for is a droid who might be able to help us disconnect everything completely,” Peli decided.

“Smart,” Fen was grinning, Peli could hear it in their voice.

Peli grinned, pleased with being able to be smart without being scrutinized or feeling like she had to fight for what little ground she still had.

“So,” Fen changed topics, “you going to bed or you going to go hit some more machines.”

“You were the one doing the hitting,” Peli pointed out. Fen shrugged.

“I'm going to sleep,” the Armorer said.

“I,” Peli hesitated, “I guess I'm going to find somewhere to eat this and then, yeah, also going to sleep.”

“Table?” Fen asked.

“Standing,” Peli shook her head, “If I sit down I might not get up until the morning.”

Fen made a sympathetic sound.

They made their way through the rest of the mess hall before they, all three of them, veered off to the left and made their way well outside the crowd.

“Alright,” Fen nodded and the Armorer and then at Peli, “I'm retreating to my quarters to eat, so I will see you two in the morning. Wait, Peli, where do you sleep?”

“In the ship usually, but...” she trailed off.

“Oof,” Fen winced, “Yeah, might want to stay clear of that for tonight.”

“I'm trying not to think about it,” Peli managed to deadpan even though she wanted to laugh.

“Until the morning,” Fen saluted then turned to disappear down the maze of hallways.

Peli looked at the Armorer, blinked a few times, and shoved a handful of food in her mouth.

“You two get along well,” the Armorer noted.

“I think it's a mechanic thing,” Peli said with her mouth full, “Camaraderie, you know? Neither of us know what we're doing with anything that isn't attached to a ship but it keeps working.”

“Why do you sleep in the ship?” the Armorer asked.

“Where would I sleep here?” Peli asked.

The Armorer made a sound so quiet Peli almost missed it, but it sounded _wounded._

“Come on,” Peli held out her hand, “I...I think we need to talk.”

The Armorer grabbed her hand and let Peli lead her to her rooftop forage, her dinner still in her other hand.

Once they were there, they sat cross-legged across from each other, their knees touching, feet at awkward angles, shoved in spaces between knees and thighs and the rooftop. Peli sort-of balanced her plate in her lap, securing it with one hand, because while, yes, they absolutely needed to talk, she also absolutely needed to eat.

With how chaotic everything had become, she was starting to understand why Paz had been in such poor shape when they'd first met. When chaos is all you have _and_ you're hurting, Peli was starting to see, it was easy to let yourself go to the wayside while you're trying to patch your life back together.

And so, they started emptying themselves of their inner shadows in the other's direction.

They talked of how they felt unworthy of the other, how they'd been along for so long and how, now that they'd found someone, found each other, their fears of _losing again_ were manifesting in wildly different ways. The Armorer spoke of how breaking the Creed in front of _her people_ was still too profane, too terrifying.

Peli spoke of the fear she'd done wrong, the guilt over going too far too fast, closing her eyes as she spoke like it was easier to say if she didn't have to look at _anything_ and could just focus on the words and so she missed the Armorer taking off her helmet as she told the Armorer she always had a moment of panic when she wanted to address her but didn't know her name, didn't speak her language, didn't know her culture.

She promised the Armorer she wouldn't ask her name, wouldn't ask her to remove her helmet even in private, but she wanted _direction,_ wanted to be able to put words to things and know what was okay with the Armorer and what wasn't. Peli needed some structure, needed to feel like _something_ was stable while the rest of the universe seemed ready to crumble should someone, somewhere make one wrong choice that rippled outward until it touched everything.

Peli's eyes were still closed when the Armorer kissed her, a chaste thing, but the Armorer had one hand on Peli's hip and Peli damned near dropped her food.

“Tavelk,” she said, her lips still just barely against Peli's, “my name is Tavelk.” 

“Tavelk,” Peli whispered.

“I'm sorry,” Tavelk said, “I love you.”

“I love you,” Peli finally realized she could put her food down next to her, “Tavelk,” she said again, like she was tasting the world, feeling the weight of it on her tongue. The Armo – _Tavelk_ – shivered.

“Come to bed with me,” Tavelk didn't make it sound like a question but Peli could _feel_ her fear, her hesitancy.

“Okay,” Peli grabbed her hands, “I mean, yes!”

Tavelk chuckled, brought one of Peli's hands to her lips, and kissed her knuckles.

“Finish eating first,” Tavelk told her and Peli could have swallowed the remainder, plate included, because while hunger was suddenly much lower on her list of priorities she knew she _needed_ to eat.

She did rush the last of it, asking once or maybe three times if Tavelk had eaten and was assured that, yes, she had.

They were on their feet again, at the top of the rooftop staircase, when Tavelk stopped, trembling just ever so slightly.

“Cyare?” Peli asked.

Tavelk sighed and put her helmet back on.

“I can't,” Tavelk said.

“I wouldn't ask you to,” Peli promised.

“That's what I love about you,” Tavelk took Peli by the hand, “How you look at everything, me included, and take it for what it is, not what you want it to be.”

“I've got a few projectors that might disagree with you,” Peli teased. Tavelk laughed, a true, free laugh, and Peli felt her heart _do things_ she didn't know it could do.

“Come on,” Tavelk took her hand again and and started down the stairs.

Peli followed like there was nothing else in the universe she could possibly be doing right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My headcanon for my own story is that everyone who meets Peli but doesn't get to _know_ Peli is respectfully terrified of her because all they know is she's the only adult in Din's traveling party who, prior to the battle on Sorgan, had no combat experience and yet _she_ is the one the Armorer seems to be keeping as her second-in-command despite neither of them publicly acknowledging that dynamic..
> 
> They've almost got the point, bless them, but they're juuuuust off enough they're wrong.
> 
> Anyway, there's still a chance they're going to have an absolutely fantastic night.


	15. Unsteady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Me: So, for the next chapter, should I move on with the plot or should I let Peli and the Armorer fuck?  
> WeCouldPretend: LET THEM FUCK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, with exactly one vote, I shall enact andthentheyfucked.jpg

Tavelk gripped Peli's hand impossibly tight, anxious, her heart in her goddamned throat, decades of keeping everyone at arm's length so there were fewer ways those who wanted her to suffer before she died.

And there were so, so many who would see that she suffered before she died.

–

_It had been difficult, at first, not to form attachments. She was **young** and had just lost everything she'd ever cared about and wanted so badly to find an anchor, but the group of resistance fighters she'd thrown her lot in with – the Death Watch, they called themselves – offered no such thing. Everyone for themselves, there, so long as they backed Bo-Katan._

_And so she did._

–

She'd kept everyone away from her, one way or another, kept them safer than if she showed she cared. Three decades and change of learning how to dodge attachment had afforded her a **shield** that nobody could see but also nobody could break.

And yet, Peli had found a way through like there's never been a shield there at all.

–

_And then Death Watch started terrorizing Mandalore and she ran again, a few members even younger than she was following, also horrified. This wasn't how Mandalorians acted, wasn't who _or_ what they were. They'd start anew, her and these barely-not-children, convince others that the answer to the unspoken question of **What makes a Mandalorian?** was not violence for the sake of evading change as Death Watch had become._

–

A few heads turned as they walked by, not-so-subtle questions asked by the helmets' tilt, unseeing but still **asking.** Peli squeezed her hand a little, a reminder that Peli was **there** and **aware** and oh how she loved Peli.

–

_Everything went wrong, of course. None of them were warriors when they'd started; they'd not been trained from childhood. Forms took longer to master. Their helmets' HUDs were a disaster to learn to manage. Someone had started a forest fire at one point when they were trying to access the holonet and that was only **one of** the disasters they'd caused._

–

She started walking faster the closer she got to her quarters. Peli kept up, the toe of her boots clipping Tavelk's heels enough times that she successfully convinced Peli to stop apologizing. She'd tuned in to Peli's heartbeat, a genuine accident, but she saw it was elevated, **excited** , and oh whatever she had done to deserve Peli she was so, so thankful she'd done.

–

_Their ranks had grown, yes, and they needed a leader. They defaulted to her and she didn't have it in her to tell them she didn't know how to lead._

_So she learned._

–

Her quarters seem impossibly far away, the hallways too long and the turns too great in number. Peli's heartbeat is no longer on her HUD – she'll process that one later – but it _is_ there against her palm, just barely, a heat and a rhythm Tavelk could lose herself in.

–

_She becomes a leader, then a smith, then _The Armorer._ She stops giving her name, stops calling herself by her old profession. That young woman died; The Armorer wore her skin, now._

–

They stumble into Tavelk's room together, a tangle of arms and legs before the door shuts behind them. She barely has the idea to lock the door before she starts stripping her armor.

“Can I help?” Peli asks, her hands trembling.

“Please,” Tavelk means it.

–

_Everything got weird then it got bad then it got **wrong** and she found herself in charge of a bunch of rag-tag angry Mandalorians who wanted nothing more than a world other than the one they had now. She made up hard and fast rules and they – her people, she was struggling to think of them as her people – followed without question._

_Everything was going to blow up in her face one day._

–

Peli's hands, despite their shaking, are stead the instant they're on her. Peli works the ties like she's been doing her entire life, not once getting in Tavek's way or even knocking their knuckles together. 

Peli lets do the final removal of each piece, shows her she's still in control. Peli has no idea how much the gesture means.

–

_The rule that got out of hand the fastest was the order not to take your helmet off in the presence of others. It had started as a protective thing, a way to prevent the non-human foundlings who swore the Creed from being targeted more than they already would for being Mandalorian. To many, Mandalorians had become a failed state, a people who had been warriors but were now either mercenaries or **lost.** Not to be trusted, seeing as how they'd already turned on their own._

_Nothing about this was in her control, but she'd lost so much, **so much.** The way she tried to hold everything together was her way of caring without showing it. From the outside they seemed fine. Strong, almost like a pack bond, a family. _

_Almost._

–

They undressed each other with a hurried reverence, touches lingering but clothes being thrown without a care. Her helmet was still on, though, a habit and a hindrance to getting the last of her clothing off.

She grabbed Peli's hands at the wrists. Peli froze, her breath hitching and eyes wide.

Tavelk guided Peli's hands tot he edges of her helmet and then let go.

“You're sure?” Peli asked, breathless, still.

“Yes,” Tavelk was so, so sure it was Peli who needed to do this.

Peli exhaled slowly as she lifted the helmet. She was so, so gentle about it, so careful that she didn't even clip Tavelk's ears.

Once the helmet was off, she handed it to Tavelk; the unspoken **this is yours** in the gesture a heady thing.

–

_Things got better, then they got worse, then they got better again._

_Mandalore had been retaken. Bo-Katan, no longer of Death Watch, no longer a terrorist, was at the head of Mandalore's people. What was left of the great Houses and Clans had rallied together and won._

–

Tavelk took the helmet and set it down gently. She turned back to Peli and Peli tugged at her shirts, lifted them over her head. She was, for the first time since well before she'd shed her name and profession, naked in front of someone she wanted to be naked in front of.

Peli was naked, too, a single shiver running through the other woman.

–

_And then it got worse._

–

Tavelk closed the gap between them, their bodies warm and hands wandering. Tavelk shifted to push her upped thigh between Peli's legs just enough to feel the **heat** that radiated there and **oh** she was drowning and she never wanted to surface again.

Peli gasped and canted her hips just barely and Tavelk **whimpered** – she didn't think she was capable of such a sound and it was a relief to find she could – and they fumbled to the bed. Tavelk nudged Peli until Peli was on the bed, on her back. 

Peli was so trusting, so open, and Tavelk might have wept is she hadn't felt so **hungry**.

–

_She'd run away. The instant she heard of the Empire coming to destroy every living thing on Mandalore, she stole a ship and she **ran.**_

_She ran because she knew there would be survivors. They'd need help, they'd need medical attention, they'd need..._

_...they'd need who she used to be._

–

She laid atop Peli, let their hips touch before she pressed down, chest-to-chest. Peli raised her head, invited a kiss and Tavelk would have been a damned fool to turn down that invitation

She kissed Peli, a deep, all-consuming thing that only served to make her **hungrier**. Peli's hands were all over her back, stopping just above her waist and **forgotten gods and heroes of old alike** she loved Peli so, so much.

–

_She'd almost literally peeled the survivors off the planet._

_The ones who hadn't made it, they'd been gassed or melted or cooked alive in their own armor with a weapon that was supposed to be dead._

_She'd peel someone off, carry them to her ship, shove them in carbonite, and go back for the next one. When she ran out of carbonite frames she put them on the floor and when she ran out of floor she stacked them if she could stack them._

_She'd left only one survivor, one Bo-Katan had been calling for, and if she faced Bo-Katan right now she might kill the other Mandalorian for her arrogance._

_The rest, though, the rest she'd saved so long as they still had breath in their lungs._

–

Tavelk arched her back upward and put a hand on Peli's hips, fingers angled in. Peli made a pleased sound.

“May I touch you?” Tavelk asked.

Peli laughed and Tavelk rolled her eyes, Peli's unvoiced **we're already touching** understood and appreciated.

“Yes,” Peli told her, “please,” then again, more raw this time, “please.”

–

_She was the only one left of her group._

_She'd saved so many but she was alone._

_These Mandalorians in her care, these almost-dead returned to life, these broken, terrified warriors who had faced down something war could only ever dream of being, they looked to her as their leader now._

_And so, once more, she lead these strangers into a sort-of family with edges to jagged they'd maim each other if they weren't careful._

_And they weren't careful._

–

She pressed one finger into Peli at first, testing, reveling in the warm, in the **wet**. Peli gasped and whined and grasped at Tavelk's back. Tavelk took a deep, jagged breath, tried to keep her wits about her as she lost herself in Peli.

–

_She was the leader of what was one of the last groups of Mandalorians in the universe._

_And so they hid._

_She hadn't been the one to establish the false histories. No one had, not really. Dreams of better outcomes and memories that felt better in hindsight became **truth** and she'd truly lost control of her covert._

–

She slipped a second finger into Peli, her own eyes fluttering closed. She hit a spot and Peli moaned and Tavelk was **wet** and she hit that spot for Peli again and Peli moaned again and Tavelk could live in this rhythm.

–

_One day, everything would blow up in her face. They'd never forgive her, and she deserved that fate. But perhaps, just perhaps, the next generation would be better for all her sins._

–

Her fingers worked at Peli, coaxed her open, she reveled in how **soft** Peli was.

“Tavelk,” Peli **moaned** her name and that drowning feeling where Tavelk never wanted to surface from found its way inside her soul.

–

_She was the Armorer now. A sacrifice to ensure the next generation of Mandalorians kept the Creed alive. That they taught the Creed to their children, by blood **and** by Foundling, and taught those children to teach their children and so on, every generation training the next to be warriors who were unafraid of change, unashamed to stand by what they believed in, even in the face of someone else's war._

–

“Oh Peli,” she bit Peli's lower lip gently and tugged just a bit. Peli laughed, a wrung-out thing, and arched her neck to Tavelk could bend her neck just enough to kiss it.

She kissed a line from Peli's neck to her chest to her stomach, lower, lower. Peli's breaths were coming in shorter and louder things. She detoured just a bit to kiss Peli's hip, then bite it, a gentle thing, a test. Peli's hand found its way to her hair and pulled and Tavelk **loved** how it felt.

She kissed another line, a much shorter one where her lips never fully left Peli's skin.

“Peli,” she said, “Peli, may I?”

“Yes,” Peli damn near cried.

Tavelk couldn't help but smile.

–

_The Armorer's life had long been over and death didn't even have the decency to come for her._

–

Peli spread her legs so Tavelk could go down on her, just as hungry, just as desperate. Tavelk put a hand on either of Peli's thighs, right where they met her pelvis, grabbed on, an anchor to her well-welcomed drowning experience.

She used her thumbs to give herself easier to access Peli's clit and she started to lick and lick and Peli writhed and made **wonderful** sounds. The acidic-sweet taste that she quickly filed away as **_Peli_** swept over Tavelk's tongue and she shivered, the weight of what she was doing hitting her at last.

Peli was so wet, so warm, **needy** in ways she'd never been before and Tavelk loved this Peli, too, this entire side of her she'd sheltered from the world and yet found her, found both the Armorer **and** Tavelk to be **safe.**

She lost herself in Peli, lost herself nearly completely to the way Peli moved and the sounds Peli made while she licked and pushed and grabbed and Peli pulled her hair, scrambled at her shoulders, moaned and keened and whimpered and said her name, said **Tavelk** over and over and over.

Tavelk abandoned her restraint, **let herself** take and take and take and the more she took the more Peli begged for **more**.

Time itself dared not tough them, these two lost lovers who'd managed to find each other because they got tangled up in someone else's destiny. Tavelk took and gave in the same motions and Peli let herself feel **everything**.

Peli, it turned out, was **loud** when she came. Peli bit down on the back of her knuckles to try to muffle the sound and only had some success. She'd screamed Tavelk's name right before she came and Tavelk felt it like a call home.

Like a call back to life.

Peli's chest heaved with panting breaths. Tavelk crawled back up to lay on Peli again, buried her face in Peli's neck and breathed in deeply. Peli held Tavelk, clutched her like it was Tavelk who was the anchor in this.

She might have stayed like that forever, renewed, refocused, braced against Peli like there was nothing that could possibly compel them to leave this bed.

For the first time in over thirty years, Tavelk was **alive** tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I know you're trying  
>  To fight when you feel like flying_
> 
> _But if you love me, don't let go  
>  Whoa, if you love me, don't let go  
> Hold, hold on, hold onto me  
> 'Cause I'm a little unsteady  
> A little unsteady  
> Hold, hold on, hold onto me  
> 'Cause I'm a little unsteady  
> A little unsteady_


	16. Interlude: Hot Pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a planet far away from Din's covert, a trio of Nite Owls mill over rumors and whispers, desperate to find more of their people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're baaaaaa-aaaaaack. ~~Well, kind of.~~
> 
> A short one this time for plot orientation purposes.

Months.

It had been MONTHS since she'd been able to get SO CLOSE to regaining the darksaber only to have it stolen out from under her. It was gone, now, with a damned CULTIST who left with a fucking CLONE.

Bo-Katan was livid, still, had been livid the entire time. The man was a ghost, impossible to find and even more impossible to track. 

She'd heard of a hunter in silver bouncing from planet to planet with a small but powerful crew. She'd had Woves put trackers on the ship thet was thought to be theirs, but the trackers were found sans ship but still active in a canyon.

There were no answers as to how they got there, only more questions.

She'd been tracing rumors of another Mandalorian. Smaller in stature, fast, smart.

Wearing hot pink armor.

She HAD to be one of Din's. There was no other explanation. Someone from Din's covert took one look at his silver ans decided she needed to be even MORE noticeable.

Reeves had tracked the pink one to Lothal and was so, so close to making contact when she'd been jumped.

Reeves' report had been deeply disturbing: the pink one had been jumped by a group who thought she had the darksaber. The pink one had escaped and ran. Yet ANOTHER Mandalorian and a human in plain clothes intercepted her and then ran with her.

And they, too, disappeared almost as soon as they were off-planet. 

She'd gotten so used to going years between finding others, and now two in the span of a few months?

Something was WRONG.

What, exactly, was wrong she couldn't figure out for the life of her.

For the life of her people.

It had been YEARS since she'd failed her people, almost a decade since she'd failed to consider that retaking Mandalore would incite retaliation. 

Reeves and Woves were the last of her Nite Owls, the last two living souls who knew exactly what she'd been through, exactly what the costs had been.

They'd be by her side, again, when she took the throne once more, righted a grievous wrong done not only to her but to every single person of Mandalore.

They had to be.

They'd lost the cruiser almost immediately after Din, Cara, and Fennec boarded the clone's ship. A distress signal had been sent out and they couldn't cancel it. They'd fled in the ship they'd arrived in, no help, no darksaber, no firepower.

Din had been so deeply wounded by giving his child to its people. She couldn't understand it, not in the way where she could even approximate the feeling. Children had never been in the cards for her, by bloodline or by finding, and she was fine with that. Her life was not a life for a child, and she was not going to give up her quest to claim the throne.

She would not trade her destiny for parenthood.

She knew, though, that most parents bonded with their children deeply. They became linked, a part of the parent with the child forever. Din had given up a piece of himself so that his child could have the best possible life.

Her entire life may have been reduced to the darksaber, but there was no honor in fighting someone already so wounded.

The fact she'd been caught off-guard and shot in the chest multiple times had nothing to do with it.

She needed to find him, though, this damned silver ghost of a man. They'd been to all the planets they'd heard of him going, questioned people, tried to find the path he'd taken. She'd even contacted Ahsoka – who'd been none too pleased to have been interrupted at exact moment – to ask if she ever saw Din again.

She had, apparently, months before and now she was hunting down someone with the surname _Skywalker_. Her explanation had been frantic, so out of her normal character. She'd been no help in locating Din.

She had, however, told her that there had been two other Mandalorians with him, neither of which had been the pink one.

Reeves and Woves were out searching for more clues while she sifted through logs and reports that had been a touch questionably obtained. Reeves would come back and take over the sifting and she'd go out. Then Woves would come to relieve Reeves, and Bo-Katan would eventually come back to relieve Woves.

It worked, the rotation like that.

She wished so badly there were more of them to do this. Those she'd found, they were so often aggressive, even to **her** like she wasn't the one who should be leading them back home, back to power.

The key to getting what she wanted was with someone who couldn't be tracked.

She HATED this, this feeling stagnant, helpless. They'd burned through so much fuel chasing the last heard whispers of both Din and the pink one. They were always late, though, sometimes by days, sometimes by months.

Sorgan had been the worst to visit. The New Republic was in the early stages of recolonizing the planet. There was evidence of battles that could have become a war there, the people farmers and merchants, not warriors.

And yet, they'd won.

There were so many people willing to tell the story of the three Mandalorians who brought down three walkers, one clad in black in silver, a giant one in mostly blue, and one that didn't fly coated in red and gold with spikes on her helmet.

Death Watch.

Bo-Katan's stomach churned thinking about it, thinking about the fact that the cult was lead by someone who'd betrayed the entire movement Death Watch was supposed to be.

She ignored that nagging voice in the back of her mind that asked her if it wasn't HER Death Watch that organized a terrorist attack to gain the people's sympathies, to build support for removing her own sister from the throne.

And what a disaster that turned out to be.

No.

Now was not the time to feel sorry for herself.

There was never a time to feel sorry for herself.

She shook her head and refocused. She had work to do, even if it seemed to be going nowhere.

She hoped Reeves and Woves were having better luck.

She needed – NEEDED - that damned saber so she could go back to those she'd already found and show them, make them see SHE was going to be the one to not only reclaim Mandalore but also save the entire Mandalorian culture.

She would not let her destiny slip through her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We couldn't focus on pulling the people she'd already found together and starting a movement, nooooo, we have to find the sword first.
> 
> Also, Nati doesn't need to show her face; her armor's enough to make her recognizable wherever she goes.


	17. Plan, Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day two of going through this new batch of files.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What they really need is an engineer.

Day two of file sorting was a short day. Or, rather, it was a short day for everyone doing the filing. Peli still had a long day ahead of her and not enough tools or time.

Once those doing the sorting had decided to focus on the point of origin, point of initial location, and point of capture only, they'd absolutely blown through the rest of the work.

There were an inordinate amount of bounties that were supposed to be located on Tatooine which were put up any time between when Din blew up the dragon and now. Sorgan, too, though Omera and Cara both swore up and down they hadn't been contacted or worse by anyone Cara hadn't known for at least a decade, save the guy who _gave them the ship._

A few more than might be expected on every other planet Din had been on since he'd been since the bounty on his head was supposedly lifted.

Someone wanted Din dead, and they wanted it to look like an accident. 

The running theory was it was someone loyal to Gideon. Maybe they believed he'd be back. Maybe they viewed Din as a threat, or wanted revenge. 

There were too many possible reasons and not enough information to start making true guesses.

Someone had mentioned that _'those two on Tatooine'_ might know more based on how they'd treated Peli and Tavelk.

Things had erupted, briefly, until Peli whistled and snapped at everyone to act like they knew what their end goal was and not a terrified bunch with no plans to speak of.

Eventually, they came to a very uneasy agreement where the goals that were most critical to the entire covert's well-being would be listed, then steps to get each one of them rolling could be established.

The highest priorities turned out to be _see what Boba and Fennec knew, get spare parts to build something closer to a proper war room,_ and _obtaining more credits._

And then the precarious cooperative atmosphere disappeared again, overlapping shouts drowning any and all hope of actual conversation. 

–

Din had thrown _everyone_ out, Peli and Fen included, and told them to shut the door behind them.

As soon as he was alone, he put his head on the table – careful not to glue a map to himself again – and let himself come apart at the seams a little to try to avoid a complete unraveling later.

The infighting, he knew, was to be expected. Everyone, himself included, was running scared but didn't have the room to admit as much. As if they hadn't lost enough already, the losses they were going to face while trying to beat _(or at least outrun)_ this unknown thing were going to be more than one more thing ripped away from them.

It was going to be personal.

It was going to be something they – something _**he**_ – planned. Something _**he**_ authorized.

And anything they lost would be on _**his**_ record, not as a King but as a person. 

Well, on his record as Mand'alor, too, he supposed.

Anyway.

Even though infighting was to be expected, it couldn't be tolerated. To tolerate infighting was to lose preemptively, and _**that**_ wasn't going to be on his conscious.

Even if it periodically meant treating everyone like children.

He heard the door open, but he didn't sit up.

“Hey,” Nati's voice was quiet, embarrassed, “I'm sorry about that.”

“Forgiven,” Din muttered as he sat up.

“Everyone else is milling around in the mess hall,” she told him as she took the seat across from him, “Some food and some physical movement should help.”

“Hopefully it will at least be a balm,” Din sighed, “It feels like all we're doing in planning.”

“I'd rather plan until the last possible second than rush in and lose everything,” Nati rested her elbows on the table, “Than lose anything, really.”

“Agreed,” Din nodded, “I'd wager that's how we all feel, it's just...”

“It feels like we're not actually making choices,” she finished for him, “just trying to react in ways that might let us actually _act first_ one day.”

“Well said,” he told her, “Did you eat?”

“No,” she shook her head, “I'm too jittery to eat, really.”

“Don't blame you,” Din cracked his neck, a slow, painful-sounding thing even with his blacks and armor to muffle it.

“Why do you keep your helmet on in here?” Nati asked, “I know I've seen you around the covert a few times without it.”

“In here, I am never _not working,_ ” Din explained, “and I need to be at my absolute best.”

“Armor and all,” Nati showed him she understood what he meant. 

Cobb and Paz wandered back in, shoulder-to-shoulder, their apologies rushed things before they sat down on other side of Din.

“Forgiven,” Din told them both.

“What are you thinking?” Paz asked, “For the next steps, I mean.”

Din's chuckle before he started talking was an empty thing.

–

Once everyone had trickled back, bellies full and tempers restrained, Din caught everyone's attention by clearing his throat. When he was sure he had complete attention, he started the meeting up again.

“I'm going to go by myself to Tatooine,” was what he opened with.

Everything went to shit again, immediately, shouts and questions filling the room.

Peli whistled, a shrill thing, and the noise stopped so instantly Din wondered for a moment if the whistle had made him go deaf.

“Why?” Cara finally asked.

“From what Peli and our Armorer said, it sounds like they're not going talk with me if anyone else is present,” Din fought the urge to fidget, “And from what all these points are indicating, if they know something, it's _big._ ”

A series of murmurs that dared not even approach normal talking volume bounced around the room.

And then, silence.

Within that silence rested a recognition that Din was right, and this risk had to be taken. Nobody was _happy_ with it, but it was happening.

“Alright,” Din said once he was sure everyone understood his decision, “Next goal.”

–

At the end of the meeting, there were three groups, plus Din, that had been set up to help with each main goal.

Peli and Fen would scavenge for parts. They'd take Fen's ship because it was better with fuel. They had a date to return by, and if they weren't back by then they _absolutely had to_ call and let them know what was going on.

The Armorer and Cara would go separately to hunt. They had experience, the both of them, or at least Din _assumed_ the Armorer had experience as a hunter because she seemed to have experience with everything. They also both had their own ships, which eliminated the need to buy, barter, or stowaway.

Din would take the ship he and Paz had used while hunting to Tatooine, and once he was there he'd go to where Peli's shop used to be and _wait._

Nati would take one or two members of the covert she trusted and they'd wait on a planet near Tatooine in the event Din sent out a distress signal.

Paz and Cobb would act as leader in Din's place; no one else knew Din as well as they did, and what the covert needed was Din.

They'd all start their new assignments in the morning. For tonight, everyone was exhausted, and Din wasn't going to have someone missing something obvious because they couldn't upkeep as much situational awareness as they usually could.

–

“I'm going to miss you both terribly,” Din said to Cobb and Paz both once they'd settled into their quarters.

“We're going to miss you terribly,” Cobb said for both himself and Paz.

“I'll be as quick as I can,” he promised them.

“Just don't be so quick you miss something and have to go back,” Paz wrapped his arms around Din's waist and Din made a contented little sound.

“You'll be fantastic,” Cobb pressed a kiss to Din's temple, “Always are.”

“Now come,” Paz nudged Din towards the bed, “I want to touch you as much as possible while we still have the night.”

And oh, wasn't that the absolute idea plan Din had heard all day.

Morning would be different, but _now_ still had plenty of room to happen.

–

The two people Nati had brought with her were, by her estimate, twice her age. They were still excellent warriors, though, fast and strong and absolutely brilliant. 

They, like many in the covert, did not give names or share their faces. Even after everything, their faith in the Creed itself was unshaken, at least in public.

If Din got into something he couldn't get out of, he'd need people like them.

She reminded herself of this over and over to avoid berating herself for not being on a hunt.

Still, waiting around as a _just in case_ was going to be such a restless endeavor.

–

This was going to be so much fun.

Fen had only flown with Peli once, but it had been _enjoyable._ Peli was honest, refreshing, unafraid.

They had a lot of ground to cover and time was not their ally, but Fen wasn't worried about that getting in their way whatsoever. 

Peli had asked to go to Morak first, unfinished business, apparently; a repair job gone wrong and she needed to see what it was.

And Fen, despite knowing how little time they had, set course for Morak.

–

It had been a long, long time since she'd gone on a hunt.

There was a part of her that missed it, honestly, that thrill of the chase and the satisfaction of winning.

And oh, could Tavelk use a victory right about now.

–

Cara hadn't checked the bounty lists in a close to a year. 

There were a lot of smaller bounties, a shameful amount whose reward were so low she wouldn't even be able to recoup the cost of fuel.

She set a minimum amount and started her search again.

She did not want to become a mercenary again; there was a lot of wrong she did that she'd called surviving. Who she'd been had been forgiven, but who she'd become did not want to need forgiveness again, not like that.

So, bounties it was.

–

Cobb and Paz stood on the roof of the covert, the Armorer's forge, looking out at the swampland, all the gnarly trees, the hanging moss, the water that felt alive despite its stillness.

“What a kingdom,” Paz huffed.

“What a bunch of survivors,” Cobb wasn't sure what he was offering Paz, “Seriously, look at you. You, personally, and the you that is everyone else in this mess.”

“And what a mess is it,” Paz shook his head.

Silence, and then.

“Together?” Paz asked.

“Together,” Cobb nodded and grabbed Paz's hand, “Absolutely, together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Plans what plans I'm going to war here!?~~
> 
> Holy fuck do they need to actually come up with a STRATEGY. They keep getting so close and then derailing by springing into action too early.


	18. Sold Your Youth Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peli has some things she needs to check out on Morak before she can let her mind rest. Fen is always, always up for more adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's favorite mechanic duo is here to spread their exact flavor of chaos.

Fen always felt their ship jerk a little when it fell out of hyperspace. They weren't sure if it was _actually_ jerking or if they were just overly sensitive to the thing, it being their ship and all.

“So,” Fen started calculating a flight path down to the planet's surface, “is there anything I should know about what I'm about to waltz right into?”

“Well,” Peli adjusted some of Fen's settings – closer to where Peli wanted to go, Fen assumed – and glanced sideways at Fen, “last time we were there Din and Paz managed to get captured and then blew up an underground Imperial base.”

“Underground as in..?” Fen looked at Peli knowing full well Peli couldn't see a damned thing under the helmet.

“Literally,” Peli sighed, “Apparently the time before that Din and someone who's officially dead in any records blew up a secret Imperial mining operation.”

“The distinction tells me his compatriot isn't actually dead,” Fen sat back in the pilot's seat, “Secret?”

“From what I gathered, the New Republic didn't know about it,” Peli shrugged, “Din and Cara were _pretty drunk_ for most of the story telling.”

“...and Cara?” Fen echoed.

Peli sighed again, a weighted thing, and started telling Fen the story of how _she_ came to learn about the first Morak incident.

–

By the time they landed and subsequently disembarked, Fen was laughing so hard they were leaning their elbow on Peli's shoulder for physical support.

“Seriously?” Fen managed.

“Couldn't make it up,” Peli half-held her hands in the air, a faux surrendering gesture that only served to make Fen laugh even harder.

A rustle, ever so faint, slaughtered their mirth in its tracks.

Fen pulled a blaster from somewhere in their utility bolt while Peli did the same. They aimed it at the same spot, hyperfocused and terrifying enough to cause what- or whoever had made the noise to call out to them.

“Peli?”

“Oh, shit, Mayfeld,” Peli lowered her blaster; Fen did not, “Tell me I'm not going to regret lowering my gun.”

“Just him,” Fen said as they lowered their weapon, “I checked.”

“And behind us?” Peli asked.

“And above,” Fen nodded, “Not below, though maybe I should have.”

Peli snorted a laugh and jostled Fen with her shoulder.

“Is it just you?” Mayfeld asked, still hidden in the foliage. 

“Just the two of us,” Peli told him.

“Where's the rest of your party?” Mayfeld asked.

“It's been,” Peli started walking towards him and Fen followed suite, “It's been absolutely wild since we were last here.”

“Last time you were here you lot weren't too far out from calling the New Republic down on a planet that hadn't even seen Imperial occupation,” Mayfeld eyed Peli with a new sense of caution, “How'd it get more wild than that?”

“Got somewhere more private?” Peli asked, “Preferably somewhere we don't have to take a speeder to.”

“You blaming yourself for that?” Mayfeld skipped several questions most people would have asked before giving life to the subtext.

Peli just grimaced and Fen wanted to hit Mayfeld. He seemed like the type of guy who people wanted to hit often, and they'd only just met the bastard.

“Right,” Mayfeld looked away, awkward, “Well, come on, my place isn't too far away.”

“I _did_ remember where your village was!” Peli's affect brightened and Mayfeld looked terrified. 

Fen considered it a damned good exchange.

–

Mayfeld wasn't particularly self-conscious the last time Mando and his friends – he assumed they were friends, anyway – had all been crammed in his house. It was a desperate thing, their battle still fresh and despite having been able to claim a victory, they were all still rough around the edges, exhausted.

But now, with just Peli and a whole new Mandalorian, he noticed how damned _small_ it was. On top of that, he got the feeling the new Mandalorian didn't much like him.

How he'd gone his entire life without meeting a single Mandalorian and now he'd met _five_ in less than a standard year was beyond him.

Once they were inside, Peli had asked Fen how alone the three of them were. Fen, the new Mando, had been silent for far too many moments before they said, “Lower than normal conversation volume. Some people seem too curious for their own good, but not hostile.”

The new Mando – Mayfeld was _**really**_ having a hard time thinking of any of them as having names – settled into the spot they were sitting, almost relaxed and Mayfeld knew for a _fact_ Mandalorians never actually relaxed.

And that was it. No weapons raised, no heading outside to chase off those trying to listen in, no...no hostility, really. Just calm observation.

That was something Mayfeld had noticed with the other Mandos, too: they were damned good at killing, efficient in ways humans had no right to be, like bloodshed and death were a part of their makeup, passed from parent to child like most people got, oh, hair and eye color and that sort of stuff. 

They were damned good at killing, yet they didn't kill if they didn't have to. Well, the ones he'd met were like that, anyway, and either that little tidbit was the good luck he seemed to have completely used up or that was actually how Mandalorians were.

Peli told him what had happened since their departure. She spoke in hushed, hurried words and periodically let something from before he'd blown the mining operation all to hell. Mayfeld realized the two he'd been imprisoned with were _suffering_ the entire time and he'd only thought them to be obnoxiously in love.

The notion that someone could lose their home, their family, their _child,_ their ship, their child _again_ , and betray their faith only to drag themselves into a war on a planet that didn't even realize it was fighting a war and _win_ and still manage to show up with their wits about them and not only ready but willing to keep fighting introduced a feeling Mayfeld would only later come to call _abject horror._

“Fuck,” was all he could say when Peli stopped talking. Peli looked tired – the type of tired no amount of sleep would fix – like the stories had drained her enegry.

“We're still going,” Fen told him, “The lot of us. It's bigger than any of us, sure, but together?”

“Together you lot could bring the universe to heel,” Mayfeld shivered, “There's something about you people,” he gestured in Fen's general direction and was pretty sure doing so was, at best, bad form, “that brings victory with it.”

Fen laughed, a dry, bitter thing and Mayfeld knew he'd misstepped.

“What do you know of Mandalore?” Fen asked him. 

From the corner of his eye, Mayfeld saw Peli shift, more alert, something in Fen's question that caused enough of an adrenaline rush that Peli's tiredness had taken a back seat.

He'd try to tread carefully.

“Nothing,” it was an honest answer.

“You were Empire,” Fen's voice was low, steady, terrifying, “How can you know nothing about Mandalore?”

“Whatever the Empire did to Mandalore was after I got out,” Mayfeld wished he could just melt into the earthen floor, “Soon as the second Death Star blew, whole lot of us got out.”

“Why'd you join?” Fen asked.

“Same as most of the people I served,” Mayfeld ran a hand through his hair, “We were promised a future, there. They'd started phasing out clones. I wasn't a stormtrooper, though. Sniper, long missions, that sort of shit,” he took a deep breath, just long enough to wonder why he was telling anyone this, “We were promised pay, retirement, a comfortable life. I was young, barely minimum recruitment age. Figured, do my time, kill the bastards who ordered thousands of clones to terrorize the galaxy and those who supported that decision. Retire, start a life, maybe start a family.”

“How'd that work out for you?” Fen pressed. 

“All I got was fucked up in the head,” Mayfeld spat, “I can't take it back and I can't   
close my goddamned eyes without watching slaughter after slaughter that I was too damned weak to realize they were worse than what we were fighting, morally.”

Fen's shoulders dropped and Mayfeld figured it was something he'd said.

“Fucking awful, isn't it?” Fen tilted their head to the side just a touch, “When an institution you've put so much faith in that you see it as ideals and individual people instead of an institution lets you down.”

Fen's story had some overlaps with his, then.

“Why'd you come here?” Mayfeld finally asked, “Why'd you come _back_?”

“The speeder that crashed,” Peli spoke up, louder than below-normal-conversational volume, but not by much, “It shouldn't have crashed. Sure, everything's a little beyond well-worn, but a crash like that?”

“You think someone tampered with the engine mid-flight,” Mayfeld realized, “We didn't run into anyone!”

“And if you thought it was him you wouldn't have been so direct,” Fen added and it did nothing to ease Mayfeld's rising anxiety, “So, what's your theory?”

“I think someone trailed us for a while,” Peli crossed her arms, a self-protective thing, “and when we stayed here they tampered with the speeder just enough that with enough use and weight, it would fail.”

“How'd they fuck with the one we used?” Mayfeld asked, growled out his frustration, “How'd they know we'd use that one?”

“It had the most fuel,” Peli hugged herself a little tighter, “Someone – likely not of this village – wanted everyone to get stranded somewhere.”

“Well we certainly got stranded,” Mayfeld huffed, “Damned near killed us.”

“That,” the word was sharp as Peli said it, “I think was just really, really bad luck.”

Mayfeld found it impossible to _not_ believe Peli's theory.

“So what do we do about the saboteur?” Fen asked, voice quiet again.

“We don't do anything about them,” Peli shook her head and Mayfeld sat forward, shoulders drawn tight, ready to argue, “In the morning, before first light, we check every single speeder in this town and see if any of them have welding marks or anything that would indicate questionable _repairs._ ”

“And then what?” Fen seemed to be handling all of this almost too well.

“Case the village,” Peli looked around Mayfeld's house like she expected it to have answers, “See if anyone's seen anyone coming or going that wouldn't normally be here.”

“And when that draws more attention than the village can handle?” Mayfield was far too loud, “What then?”

“How much more danger would they be in than they normally are?” Peli was just as loud, “If there's any Imperial presence left on this planet, how safe are your new neighbors, really, with someone who's been present for not one but two Imperial bases blowing up?”

_“They treat me like a **hero** ,”_ Mayfield _roared_ , “They love me here because I'm the man who killed the people destroying their way of life and _stayed_.”

Peli opened her mouth to say something but closed it without a word.

“If all the Imperials are gone from this planet,” Fen said slowly, “ _when_ all the Imperials are gone from this planet, what are you going to do with the rest of your life?”

Mayfeld didn't have an answer.

–

Making dinner was a quiet affair this time; Mayfeld let Peli do the cooking over a hastily-made fire pit while he and Fen watched.

“You've done this before,” Fen wasn't asking, not quite.

“A few times,” Peli told them as she poked the fire with a large stick, “Though, have to say, much slower than cooking dragon meat in an engine fire.”

“A what in a what?” Mayfeld blanched.

“Exactly what it says on the label,” Peli didn't look up, “Blame Din for that one.”

“I'm not sure I want that story,” Mayfeld was thinking aloud.

“Without telling you the story, I will tell you if it was anyone else saying what happened, I wouldn't believe them,” Peli used her poking stick to jostle the pot she seemed to be cooking whatever she'd found forging or in Mayfeld's food boxes.

He called them food boxes; they were more hastily made baskets that looked like he'd knotted hundreds of weeds together to keep his food off the dirt floor.

Which, to be fair, was exactly what he'd done.

“Tell me about your neighbors,” Peli also wasn't asking.

Mayfeld realized he knew nothing about his neighbors. His faltering unfinished syllables seemed to communicate that, because Fen said, “Did you want to be a sharpshooter?”

“I wanted a good life after retirement,” Mayfeld told them. It sounded so silly now, daft even, joining the Empire to to get rewarded for being a good soldier who followed orders without questioning them. 

Put it like that and he spent his prime as a terrible person.

“What about you, Fen?” Peli asked as she gave the pot a good stir, “You were a fighter when Mandalore was peaceful, yeah?”

“I,” Fen drew back, “Yeah, I was, because throwing away thousands upon thousands of years of culture, of what made us _Mandalorian_ instead of just human was the worst idea I'd ever heard of.”

“What?” Mayfeld regretted asking before he even finished the word.

“The – our Empress,” Fen spoke like they were picking each word like it was being selected just before they said it, “She did not want to get involved in either side of the Clone Wars. Mandalore – a planet and people who were born for nothing _but_ war – became a planet of peace. A lot of us didn't like that,” they paused for a moment, “and a few of us did something about it.”

“Let me guess,” Mayfeld sat down on the ground, “Didn't work?”

“Went horribly,” Fen sat down as well, almost next to Mayfeld but just far enough that they weren't sitting next to each other, “Turns out there are worse things than making warriors lay down their weapons.”

“There's always worse,” Mayfeld said it like it was a thing he anchored his every choice, his every thought.

“There is no such thing as the absolute worst,” Fen picked up a stick and started taking strips off the stick starting with the bark, their fingers surprising nimble for the size of their gloves, “We got our planet back only to experience a genocide at the hands of the Empire. I am aware that it can always, always get worse.”

“Oh,” Mayfeld hadn't know, hadn't been part of _that particular genocide._

Self-loathing may as well be all he was going to feel for the rest of its life.

“You still haven't answered my question,” Fen tilted their head towards Mayfeld, “When this world is completely free of Imperials, what are you going to do with yourself?”

“What about you?” Mayfeld deflected, “Your people threw away their culture, the ones who refused to do so didn't work out, where did you wind up?”

“Getting scraped off a planet by someone I'd only met in passing,” Fen turned towards him, “Saved by someone who was not a traitor, but in face the one who showed up at Mandalore's darkest hours and started _saving us_ ,” Fen too a deep, shuddering breath, “And sure, things are fucked up and fragile and scattered, but I'm with people, with _Mandalorians_ , who want to restore our place in the universe as warriors.”

“I don't get that,” Mayfeld snapped, “I don't _get_ people who think they could have _better,_ ” he was on his feet and pacing a small line, “I get this, this planet where I blow shit up to get rid of the very people who promised me a life I never got to have.”

“You could,” Peli ladled some stew into a bowl and passed it to Fen, “Have that. Not your people, not as you knew them. But who your people are can change.”

“Yeah, right,” Mayfeld huffed, “Mando – Din – he _has_ to hate me after what I did to him.”

“You could ask him yourself,” Peli ladled stew into a second bowl and handed it to Mayfeld, “Once he's in a spot to ask him.”

“What?” Mayfeld sat back down and held the bowl to his chest, soaking in its warmth. He swore he could feel Peli's steady calm in it.

“Missions,” Peli said as she ladled herself a bowl, “Right, here, fork, spoon,” she said as she handed one of each to Fen and then to Mayfeld, reserving the last of each for herself, “It's...none of us are the same as we were going in, but it's been for the better.”

Mayfeld looked at Peli – really _looked_ at Peli – and could see it. She was tougher, now, much more sure-footed in her place in the universe. She wasn't hiding her fear of falling behind everyone else by constantly being busy.

Hell, she'd emerged as a _leader._

Peli sat down facing Mayfeld and Fen, sort of between them, close enough it was almost a _familiar_ thing.

“So uhm,” Fen sounded anxious, the change making both Mayfeld and Peli focus on Fen, “I have to warn you, if I take off my helmet, it's going to be jarring.”

“Did you want to eat in the house?” Mayfeld asked.

“If it would make you more comfortable,” Fen was holding their stew tight.

“I've been to prison,” Mayfeld huffed, “Nothing's left to file under jarring.”

Fen looked to Peli and Peli just shrugged.

Fen took their helmet off slowly.

Their throat and lower jaw were more mangled burn scar than normal skin. There were less severe burn scars on most of the rest of her face, and they looked like they extended down their body, past their armor.

Fen put their helmet on the ground gently and looked between Peli and Mayfeld like they were expecting a reaction.

There was none.

Mayfeld was the first to start eating.

“Oh,” Mayfeld almost _moaned_ when he took the first bite, and wouldn't that have been embarrassing, “Peli this is fucking fantastic.”

Peli chuckled and took her first bite.

“Thing about spending my entire life on Tatooine,” Peli said with her mouth full, “is I really learned my way around spices.”

“It shows,” Mayfeld complimented her.

From the corner of his eye, Mayfeld saw Fen take off their gloves and start reaching into their stew to break it into smaller chunks. In front of him, he could see Peli making a mental note to cut everything smaller next time, just a brief flash in her eyes.

Mayfeld wasn't sure he breathed while he ate. He could not remember the last time he'd had anything this rich – couldn't remember if he'd _ever_ had something so rich – and he could not convince himself to temper his eating speed.

Peli ate slower, one eye on Fen's bowl like she was making sure Fen wasn't stuck eating alone.

“Is there more?” Mayfeld asked.

“Yeah,” Peli took his bowl, “How much more do you want?”

Mayfeld's eyes went wide. Peli chuckled and filled his bowl again before handing it back.

“Thank you,” Mayfeld whispered.

He did manage to eat slower the second time, savoring the way everything melted perfectly in his mouth.

When all three of them were done eating, Fen put their helmet back on.

“Thank you,” Fen said.

“So you uh,” Mayfeld gestured at Fen and faltered, “Can I ask? Is-is that okay?”

Fen nodded.

“So you like, use that thing to talk for you?” Mayfeld asked.

“Yeah,” Fen nodded again, “Took me months to get all the inflections right, even longer to get the laugh to sound like I remembered mine sounding like.”

“That's amazing,” Mayfeld might have been staring, “What else can that thing do?”

“It's not _that thing_ ,” Fen corrected him, “Our armor, our helmets, they're _a part of us_. Taking them off is like if you sanded your skin down until it was all the live layer.”

“Oh fuck,” Mayfeld recoiled.

Din switching into someone else's armor _and_ showing his face in a room full of people who committed genocide against Din's people suddenly hit Mayfeld different, like it was the bravest damned thing he'd ever witnessed, a father shedding all his protections for his son and _holy fuck_ did Mayfeld suddenly feel horrible about a lot of things he'd said to Din.

“The HUD can do a lot,” Fen continued, “Every bit of our armor is capable of...a lot, but none moreso than the helmet.”

“Is that why you aren't supposed to take it off?” Mayfeld asked.

“It wasn't always a rule,” Fen explained, “It's my sect. And, really, a part of me thinks it's about how many of us got so fucked up, physically, at the beginning of the purge. Everyone who was there and survived watched our families get burned or gassed or boiled in their own armor. Don't take it off, nobody knows who's going to all but collapse in on themselves – again, physically – without their armor for support.”

“Sounds awful,” Mayfeld realized he probably shouldn't have said that aloud.

“It isn't, though,” Fen sat up straight, “I'm _alive_ , still. I can still do, still help, still fight. There's thousands or maybe millions of planets to explore, billions of stars to see, countless species to meet. There will be wars to fight and archives upon archives of Mandalorian culture and history to rebuild. None of that's _awful_.”

“It's refreshing,” Peli told Fen, “how much life you want to live.”

“Most people get crushed,” Mayfeld frowned, “Their...their spirits, their wills, whatever you want to call it.”

“Not Mandalorians,” Fen shook their head, “Sure, we might need some time to pull ourselves together but we _will_ pull ourselves together. We've already done so, so many impossible things in just a few months now that we're all moving in the same direction.

“Our strength is in our numbers again, for the first time since the Great Purge, and _**that**_ is worth any pain we've been through, any sacrifice.”

Mayfeld could only describe what he was feeling as _admiration_ which, right up there with _abject horror_ , he hadn't felt in a long, long time. It sat in his stomach, heavier than the stew, and he wasn't sure what to do with it.

No.

He knew what he was going to do with it.

“You're serious,” he looked between Peli and Fen, “About me coming with you, you're serious.”

Peli and Fen didn't even look at each other, just said, “Absolutely,” in unison like it was the only word left in the universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title from The Gaslight Anthem's _'Old Haunts.'_
> 
> Y'all I am having a TIME(tm) right now I would like to return this TIME(tm) for a different one please


	19. Scattering Sand to the Winds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Peli's garage used to be, Din kneels, and he waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fun fact in place of a start note: Sloths can swim about three times as fast as they can move on land.

Tatooine was a planet that never changed.

_No,_ Din corrected himself, _It's changed, before. Slowly._

If the histories were to be believed, Tatooine was once a planet covered in trees, covered in water.

Covered in life.

Tatooine was the antithesis of that, now, just sand and sand and, somehow, even more sand.

And yet, life persisted.

It persisted in Mos Pelgo, where he hoped the town was still safe despite his taking their Marshal. A small mining town that realized despite their lack of power they still had teeth, still had something – someone – to keep the proverbial massiffs at bay.

It persisted in Mos Eisley, the walled city where, despite the hunters and the criminals and the bastards who fit neither category because their moral compasses resembled a roulette wheel, there were even more severe dangers outside the walls. The city turned in on itself, life weaving its way through the cracks in everyone's souls.

It went back even further, to the sand people, _the Tuskens,_ the people this planet belonged to properly, the Tuskens and the local fauna that had a habit of being even more ruthless than those who stood on two legs, native or self-imported. 

And, like the visible on the planet, it changed so, so slowly that it might have well been static.

–

_He was seven standard years old._

_His parents, dreaming of a life with many more chances to make something of himself than they'd dreamed of, taught him for to mark time in standard units; they showed him all the ways their village, their planet, was different from the standard units. They made sure he understood the units. They taught him Basic before they taught him their native tongue._

_'We don't want your accent to give you away,' they would tell him. He didn't know what it meant, but he understood he should be ashamed of the things his parents learned from their parents. He needed to be different, somehow, to find his own way in the universe._

_Without them, he was beginning to realize._

–

Fennec was **not** running.

Running was for people who were lacking – time, allies, skill, what have you – and she was **not** lacking.

–

Landing was easy. Mos Eisley's landing areas were well-staffed, well-monitored. In a place like this, they had to be: the wrong person's ship goes missing, gets ransacked, and all the sudden you've got all your dock staff and plenty of bystanders slaughtered.

It was, if nothing else, bad for business to leave the docks anything but over-staffed.

Finding the place where Peli's garage used to be was easy, too. He'd been there twice when he never went the same place twice if it wasn't the Guild or the Covert. 

This was where it all started, he supposed.

Sure, he'd learned about the bounty on Grogu just before that, but Sorgan...Sorgan had been different. He'd had hope, initially, that he'd found a safe place for the child – Grogu hadn't been _his son_ yet – only to find out he was so very wrong.

When he'd come to Tatooine, he knew they were on the run, him and this kid he'd sacrificed everything he knew about his life, and he knew they would be for a while.

And he took one look at Peli and decided it was safe to leave the kid in the ship while she was around.

–

“Boba,” Fennec hissed in Boba's ear – or at least where she assumed his ear was – despite him being in the middle of a contract negotiation.

“Fennec,” Boba was gritting his teeth, she could tell, preemptively annoyed by whatever she was interrupting him with.

The annoyance was for their guests' sake she knew, but the little tendril of fear he'd finally gotten tired of her and she'd be on her own again tried to rear up anyway.

“He's arrived,” Fennec couldn't get the words out fast enough, “Alone.”

–

_War had found them._

_Din hadn't known there was a war raging across the stars, didn't know the side that favored genocide as a way to keep the brave under their control. He hadn't been introduced to **any** of those ideas yet._

_It was amazing, in hindsight so far away he was either objective or dissociative, how quickly droids who were built to massacre a town could do just that._

–

Din sighed and knelt down where the little platform he'd landed the _Razor Crest_ on twice had been.

He closed his eyes, meditative, and started waiting.

–

Fennec had never seen Boba clear the palace so fast.

He'd barked at some of the guards – who were usually decorative – to guard the palace. Nobody in or out until Boba returned.

Nobody questioned Boba's orders.

–

_He'd been saved by people who were **proud** of their culture._

_They'd welcomed him with open arms, taught him their language, their way of life. They let him learn his parents' tongue, too, and Basic and every other language he could find someone to teach him._

_He loved languages, the way each of them framed a moment in different ways. He loved the sounds they made, the ways they made him use not only his air and tongue and teeth but his neck and shoulders and lungs._

–

Yeah, Din decided, this was where it started. This was where someone had seen him in trouble and, instead of walking away unscathed like they had every right to do, helped him escape.

Peli hadn't walked away.

–

Boba pushed the speeders to their absolute limits.

–

_He loved the fighting, too, loved the way it demanded things of him – mind, body, and soul – he never would have come up with on his own. He loved being fast, loved learning how to avoid hits without being a coward for it._

_He took every lesson to heart, let what he was learning about **being a Mandalorian** settle into the lining of his skin, a very much alive understanding that, when he finally got his armor, served to connect him to it, made the metal and cloth his skin, too._

–

Peli had done the opposite of walk away.

She'd looked at him, broke and just barely escaped with his life, and this kid he'd left behind, and been willing to send him off without paying the difference. She'd shown him _mercy_ for no reason other than she was the first truly decent person he'd ever met.

She'd put getting him and his kid into a safe-ish situation above her own needs, hell, her own wants.

She could have just cuffed him, demanded to split the reward. He would have put up a fight, sure, and he MIGHT have won, but that bastard parading around like a bounty hunter had Grogu in his arms, would have _shot_ his fucking kid before Din could have crossed the distance between them, and then what?

But no, Peli decided it was Din and Grogu who deserved the second chance instead of her who deserved enough money to get the hell off the planet.

–

The twin suns, when they set, were something Fennec had come to realize she'd never tire of. She'd seen them fall below the horizon hundreds of time and the colors they turned the sky was always breathtaking.

There was no pausing to admire them today, though; she was sure that if he could have teleported to where Din seemed to be...just waiting...he would have; he would have left her behind entirely to get to Din without even blinking.

–

_He loved his life, now._

_Sure, he was no longer Din, but he assumed his parents would have approved. After all, the last act of their lives had been sparing Din so someone could, quite literally, lift him into a better life. That didn't mean he didn't miss him, didn't mean he didn't have nightmares about losing them._

_He had to keep looking forward, though. The past was dead and he was not._

–

There were no temples, not for Mandalorians.

Their worship was in their violence. 

It was more complicated than that, but everything was more complicated than a single sentence could contain.

This, though, this empty space in a city where space was a premium thing worth killing over. This was deliberate.

And, given that this was where Din had accidentally _started_ what turned out to be his journey to becoming Mand'alor, this could be a temple. A place to just sit and focus on all the spaces between moments he'd overlooked as they'd happened, his life too chaotic and his mind too full to chart his own path.

He needed the others, he knew, each in their own way. They needed him, too; many of them needed him to be someone he didn't want to be.

Sometimes, when he'd been awake too long, the sounds of Cobb and Paz breathing as they slept soundly next to him started to mingle with the notion that he couldn't outrun this.

They were supposed to have gone to the places Din had been with Grogu, look around, and move on. There weren't supposed to be complications, and there definitely wasn't supposed to be a war.

So much of his life wasn't supposed to happen and usually, he could deal with it by running away. Hell, he'd missed the memo the Purge was happening entirely for nearly a year, until it took his buir's life. It had only been by chance his covert had found him, had molded him into the man he was today.

It seemed, now, that despite how few Mandalorians he'd been brought up around, the Children of the Watch had a number of splinter groups. He'd not found the energy to ask, though. He'd lost so much to the truth, and at this point he didn't care if he didn't know the truth of the man who raised him.

–

Fennec did not quite understand Boba's fixation on Din. It wasn't romantic, she could tell that much; Boba didn't do romance, or flirting, or seduction, or _any of that._

And oh, had she watched so, so many beings try, only to be thrown out of the palace without ceremony. Gone were the days where pretty women were barely clothed and chained to the altar of a throne. Gone, too, where the for-hire sex workers that seemed to think they still needed to flit about the place.

Fennec wanted to bring that up to Boba eventually; there would always be those who wanted to pay for sex, and as such there would always be people who were paid to fuck others. If Boba welcomed it instead of tolerated it – or, as it seemed he'd done, removed it – he could assure the sex workers in his palace were _safe,_ and that was a thing far too many sex workers had, protection.

She hadn't found the opening, though, and he could tell it was going to be a difficult conversation at best.

And right now, Boba was fixated on Din. He'd evens started to get close to sloppy with some of his contract negotiations. He'd asked her, even, a few times, asked her if she'd seen him in any of her monitoring.

She was in debt to Boba; it was a debt she could not pay back. She didn't mind, though. Life under Boba had had a sense of purpose, a sense of righteousness to it. Gone were the days where she'd lived from contract to contract. She no longer had to worry about where she slept or where she would get food or if someone was going to shoot her in her sleep, all of which were nice bonuses.

But if he kept being so damned distracted by Din's lack of presence, they were both going to be in trouble.

–

Din could almost feel it here, feel the choices he'd made twisting around themselves as they reshaped his future. He could sense every way his life could have gone had anything been even the tiniest different, all the paths he could have walked.

Every single path that didn't lead to his early death lead here.

Right here, right now, kneeling in the empty space where history would once day sanction as step zero, the darksaber at his hip and his wishes for a different life dying on his tongue, never spoken aloud because, oh, how treacherous the universe could be, and his fears it would take someone he loved away from him greatly outweighing his desperation to be anything but the Mand'alor.

–

Boba saw Din – the outline of him, anyway – kneeling in the space the garage used to be.

He didn't apply the brakes until he absolutely needed to, his speeder screaming in protest. He was off the thing and on his feet in a heartbeat, taking the three running steps he heeded to take to get to Din.

Din did not look up, did not startle or flinch or even move, like he expected that to happen.

Fennec had applied the brakes on her speeder at a reasonable pace, arrived just behind Boba.

Din looked up, then, when Fennec's speeder stopped moving, his unseeing helmet meeting Boba's at an angle that indicated eye contact would have been happening if there faces were bared.

“I've been waiting for you,” Din said.

“No the fuck you haven't,” Boba huffed.

Behind Din, Fennec laughed so hard she braced her elbows on her speeder handles.

“Come on,” Fennec managed, “We have lost time to catch up for.”

And that, Boba had to admit to himself, was the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes hello this was a thinly veiled Peli Appreciation Chapter I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Din wouldn't know the Force if it smacked him in the face.


	20. Kill the Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Paz makes his own wishes come true, and Cobb reaps the benefits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One person said 'let them fuck' rather than get on with the plot this chapter, and we all know how little encouragement I need.

The days stretched out, time passing slower than it was meant to, an eternity contained between the sun's rise and set. 

And yet, there was so much left undone at the end of every day. Never enough time, never enough people, never enough anything besides food, and even then Paz had noticed more and more fillers.

He debated sending some more hunters out, but no, not until Peli and Fen got back; the two of them alone knew how to search returning ships for trackers. 

Which, now that he was thinking about it, _maybe_ they should have kept one of them here in case their mission took longer than the Armorer or Cara.

Something about hindsight being clearer...

He'd been leading the meetings in the War Room since Din's departure, alongside Cobb.

Cobb had been invaluable to the war efforts: He was much, much more patient than Paz, so open to no ideas and pivoting a plan on a single point without the mental shuddering most went through to pivot like that. He'd let others take the lead, too, when their experience outweighed his own.

Cobb had earned his respect at the covert; he had not rode in on Din's power and rank, nor had he hid behind Paz's position in the covert. No, Cobb had stayed back, watched, learned how things worked, worked his way in and then worked his way up. He knew a lot about how to do great things with so few resources some might use the phrase _with nothing._

He knew, too, how to halt fights before they started. That seemed a newer thing, like he'd seen it work well once, just once, but whatever he'd seen worked so fantastically that he decided to take the idea and learn it so he could adapt it as his own.

That wasn't to say Cobb _didn't_ have a temper. Twice already Cobb had sent _himself_ out of the War Room because he couldn't bring himself back to the place of strategy he needed to be.

On a purely selfish level, Cobb had helped Paz immeasurably, too. Every moment they could steal for themselves involved wandering hands and stolen kisses. Sometimes, if the moment was long enough, they'd grind on each other, desperate, half-hard from just what they could wrench from the moment.

Tonight, thought, tonight they had many moments. The electric had gone down on the lower floors – conveniently, where the War Room was, and without light making their maps of leaves and twigs wasn't happening.

They could have used their helmet lights, yes, but as soon as the room had plunged into darkness Cobb had grabbed Paz's ass, hard, unyielding, and Paz damn near whimpered in the middle of the fucking War Room.

And so, they declared it a night. Go, eat, sleep, forage, do what you will.

Or who you will, in Paz's case.

Even in the dark, Paz knew how to get to the quarters he'd come to call his. He didn't have the patience to go to the ship, not with Cobb pawing at him, loosening his armor already, nails just barely grazing Paz's skin in the places he'd already managed to free from their confines.

Once they were in the little room, Cobb had already shed his own shirt before the door closed. Paz took off his armor piece by piece, a hurried sort of reverence, the generations of faith that carried the armor to him not forgotten even while he was half-mad with lust. 

They were naked, finally, naked in the darkness in the too-small room but Paz didn't care about the amount of space they had; they had each other, confines be damned.

Cobb crashed into him, hard, hungry, already grinding against Paz's thigh, arms around him and nails dug into Paz's back.

Cobb moaned Paz's name and Paz guided Cobb backwards, backwards still, back again and again until the back of Cobb' was backed against the wall.

Paz lifted Cobb up like he was a rag doll, leveled Paz's hips with his own. Cobb _moaned_ , a loud, obscene thing. Paz groaned and buried his face in Cobb's neck.

Cobb said Paz's name again, a quick yelp of a whisper, a plea, and Paz realized he wouldn't deny Cobb _anything_ , probably _couldn't_ deny Cobb anything if he said his name like that again.

Paz did not have lubricant in these quarters, had been too exhausted to even jack off the few times he'd been here long enough to do more than pass out from exhaustion. Still, he canted his hips just enough to create a little friction between his dick and Cobb's dick, the two of them aligned just enough to do that, at least.

Cobb wrapped his legs around Paz's waist as best he could, his calved hooking the back of Paz's hips.

Paz bit down on Cobb's neck, clamped down on the soft part where Cobb's neck, ear, and jaw all met. Cobb hissed but then whispered _please_ and managed another whispered _please, Paz, Please_ and tilted his head so Paz had more skin to bite and oh, truly, there would be no denying Cobb anything, not like that, not when he was so pliant under Paz's mouth.

Paz bit down harder, tasted blood that wasn't his, and Cobb cried out, nails digging into Paz's back and legs and torso tensing but Cobb kept muttering _please, Paz, more, please_ in different combinations so Paz bit again, a little lower, as hard as he could this time. Cobb's nails raked Paz's back and Paz knew Cobb had broken skin and Paz wanted to earn that wonderful pain from Cobb over and over.

Paz lifted Cobb higher, just a little bit out, then rolled his hips forward and guided Cobb back down gently so Cobb was sitting on Paz's dick.

Cobb clung to Paz, whimpering, pleading in broken little words and Paz assured him he was good, told him he was so perfect, so delicious. He called Cobb _mine_ and Cobb _sobbed_ but begged Paz not to stop, so Paz didn't stop.

Paz did, however, continue to tell Cobb how perfect he was, how _fucking delicious_ he was. He told Cobb how badly he _wanted_ him like it was a confession, a thing he'd been keeping at half an arm's length. 

Paz asked Cobb to _hold on tight_ and Cobb did. Paz worked Cobb open with his own spit just enough to get the head of his cock inside of him. The noise Cobb made was _obscene_ right before the once-Marshal tried to lower himself onto Paz.

Paz made a promise to Cobb in the form of an _I've got you_ and Cobb put his faith in that promise, let Paz enter him slowly, carefully, Cobb's body almost trying to protest but Cobb was too damned stubborn to give into that, made himself stay relaxed as he clung to Paz.

He fucked Cobb slowly, savoring the way his partner's body responded to his, reveled in the heat that was every possible part of Cobb. Cobb's dick rubbed against Paz's stomach with every thrust and he could fell Cobb's precum being dragged over his skin.

He kissed Cobb, a hungry, fast thing completely out of sync with his thrusts but the way Cobb was whimpering and the way Cobb's breath was hitching told Paz this was what Cobb needed. It was sloppy, teeth knocking against each other and mouths not quite aligning. 

Paz felt Cobb's fingers tense first, then his arms and legs and, finally, his chest and his stomach, everything happening in just a few heartbeats. Cobb came with a cry, head back and mouth open as his breath came in short, panting bursts.

Paz made another promise, this one in the form of an _I've got you, Cobb,_ as he held Cobb against him, as he stilled himself to give Cobb a moment or several, trying his damnedest not to push Cobb over an edge where he couldn't still reach the man.

As Cobb came down from that high, as his breathing evened out and his head came forward to rest on Paz's shoulder, Paz's dick twitched and Cobb made a little whimpering sound and nestled his face in the crook of Paz's neck.

Paz said Cobb's name, a soft thing, an unasked question to which Cobb answered _good._

Still, Paz stayed his hips, bit back on the urge to give Cobb a fuck so rough he'd be feeling it for days because, oh, was that tempting, a faux claim over someone who'd only ever given every part of himself willingly.

And that was the thing, wasn't it? Cobb had been there when Din needed someone who'd keep him from shaking apart, had been there, too, when Paz was at his lowest and tried to make that Din's problem. Cobb had been there when Paz was too far for anyone to reach, too, his words a sledgehammer to Paz's oldest and most fortified personal walls.

Paz held Cobb a little tighter, squeezed his ribs, one hand bracing the back of Cobb's neck.

And again, for the children on Sorgan, the last line of defense, a fighter in the forest as a last resort, placed there because more than him, more than Din, more then the Armorer, even, _Cobb_ had the best chances of saving all those children should they have needed to be saved.

Paz exhaled, a heavy thing that came almost too close to a sigh, and Cobb moved his arms to let them drape over Paz's shoulders.

And again, after Sorgan, while the victory still held its bitter taste, Cobb had been the one to take him by the wrist and haul him off to his and Din's quarters, had been the one who'd made sure Paz hadn't been left behind again, had been _the first person in Paz's fucking life_ who had _come back for him._

Again and again, Cobb had given his everything without expecting or even asking anything in return.

A good man, despite having every reason to be otherwise.

Tonight, though.

Tonight, Cobb would be selfish.

Tonight was finally time for Cobb to _take_ and Paz wanted to offer Cobb _everything._

Cobb murmured _please_ against Paz's neck and Paz did mean to give Cobb everything so he carefully, slowly, moved so he could lower Cobb onto the cot back first. He slid out of Cobb at one point and Cobb _whimpered_ and Paz made a promise in the form of _I've got you_ once more.

Paz slicked his palm up better this time, his weight still heavy on Cobb, gave himself a few strokes and spit in his palm to avoid licking it before he started to work Cobb open once more.

It was different, this time, Paz resting damned near his full weight on Cobb as he reached between them, eyes on Cobb while he took in how much _bigger_ he was than Cobb, how well he enveloped Cobb like this.

Once he'd worked Cobb open to his liking, he wasted no time entering Cobb once more. Cobb was begging, nearly sobbing, clawing at Paz's back demanding _more_ even as his chest stuttered with ragged breaths.

They moved together, a haphazard sort of careful that saw Cobb's knees practically touching his own shoulders by the time Paz bottomed out inside of him with a groan. 

Paz kept his thrusts short, kept as much of his cock inside of Cobb as he could, lost his damned _mind_ with the noises Cobb was making. Cobb's hands were gripping the bedding, knuckles impossibly pale-white from the force of the thing.

Paz babbled, told Cobb how good, how perfect, how delicious he was, told Cobb he loved him in Basic and Mandoa alike, told Cobb he was glad Cobb was in his life, his words incomplete but so, so full of meaning, so full of honesty.

Paz twisted his arms so that his hands slid under Cobb's shoulders, his arms bracketing Cobb's ribs and legs alike. He tilted his hips up just a touch and Cobb _screamed,_ a white-hot burn of pleasure shooting through Paz like a blaster bolt as Cobb's scream turned into pleas for _more_ alongside sworn oaths to long-forgotten gods.

When Paz came, buried deep in Cobb, he cried out Cobb's name and Cobb _gasped_ and Paz's hips twitched with the last of his orgasm.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Cobb uncurled himself until he was flat on his back. Paz, who's slipped out of Cobb in the process, laid atop Cobb once more, enveloping him, peppering Cobb's face and neck with quick kisses and the intermittent nip, Paz's teeth just barely pinching Cobb's skin.

Paz's chest heaved, winded, like he'd been in battle for hours and he was safe, now, like he had the room to feel everything.

Cobb said Paz's name over and over with little, breathy _oh_ s mixed in. Paz groaned Cobb's name and he felt Cobb start to get hard again, his cock trapped between their stomachs.

Cobb clung to Paz again, wrapped his arms and legs around him, gripped him like a vice and twitched his hips, cock seeking the friction its current trapped position offered.

Paz kissed Cobb, a deep, steady thing this time, still hungry, still needy, and Cobb humped against Paz's stomach as his nails dug into Cobb's back once more, breaking the skin and _burning, **burning**_ through Paz's every nerve surviving hadn't killed, a sort of liquid fire he wanted to live in.

Cobb _whined_ when he came this time, a reedy thing and Paz bit down on his shoulder and the whine turned into a loud, sharp gasp.

Paz released Cobb's shoulder as Cobb came down from his second high, anchored him to avoid the fallout past-Paz knew too well, had learned from all the wrong people, that Paz knew tended to come after, well, whatever name there was for _this_.

He told Cobb how brilliant he was, told Cobb over and over he was there, nuzzled his face into the side of Cobb's neck and pressed gentle kisses as he told Cobb these things.

He told Cobb that he'd realized he was going to fall in love with him when he took the his helmet to the Armorer for him, how he waited for Cobb to come back and when it was the Armorer who'd fetched them he felt a rising panic that something had _happened _to Cobb that lingered even after he'd seen Cobb was fine.__

__Cobb told him that he'd felt like he needed to see what the Armorer was going to do to their armor, like he needed to keep her at her forage so Paz and Din could process whatever they needed to process together, uninterrupted. He told Paz he did not understand at the time how profound it was for Paz to hand him his helmet, but now he knew, and he loved Paz all the more for it._ _

__Paz told Cobb how he'd shattered in those ruins, how seeing the damage still untouched after months managed to shake what was left of his constitution apart, admitted aloud for the first time that that was the moment he started letting himself admit that what happened, well, _happened.__ _

__Cobb told Paz that the night they'd all been drunk to get through the story of Morak was the night he'd felt like they were a clan of three, himself and Paz and Din, and Paz smiled to brightly his _face_ hurt._ _

__They both admitted that, in the earliest stages of whatever this was, they'd expected their relationships to be with Din, the Mand'alor the focal point with Paz and Cobb orbiting him._ _

__Cobb told Paz that he'd known he'd never let Paz out of _his_ orbit the moment Paz pulled a knife on one of his own, so Paz told him that in that moment nothing was more important than showing everyone Cobb was _his_ , was under his protection, was more than a stranger in their broken land._ _

__They went back and forth like this, telling each other secrets that chipped away at even the hardest bits of protective walls they'd both been forced to build around their hearts by circumstance alone._ _

__It was easier, in the dark like this, to let truths so raw they were terrifying loose into the universe. It was as if the darkness made the space for them to see these truths in themselves, in each other._ _

__They let themselves drift, spent time immeasurable in that space between awake and asleep, lazy kisses and teeth just barely grazing skin. They'd have to get up eventually, yes, have to clean themselves and put Paz's armor back on bit by bit, have to go back out there and lead a bunch of broken people to War._ _

__But not tonight._ _

__Oh, not tonight._ _

__Tonight was for reveling in Cobb, in whatever this was between them that was _just theirs.__ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paz is a soft man under all that armor.
> 
> Chapter title shamelessly taken from 'Kill the Lights' by The Glorious Sons.
> 
> If my updates get slower please know I am having A Time ™ but have not abandoned or back-burnered this story by any means. I just need to...let myself scatter for a bit <3


	21. The Wretched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din wants to know what's so heavy that Boba and Fennec couldn't send it in a message. Boba swears he isn't seeking redemption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*crawls out of the hole my brain dug for me*_
> 
> This chapter's a little different than usual. Enjoy!

Boba's Palace – Din was having a hard time wrapping his head around that – was a place in transition. Even if he hadn't known Boba, hadn't known that Boba had made himself a King only days after Din had been forced to take the damned sword, he could have told anyone it was a place in transition. 

It was something in the air, mostly. Dust that should have been settled catching stray beams of light as it danced in the air, floors in dark hallways that were freshly scrubbed, only the most stubborn detritus still stuck in the floor's imperfections. Staff who were supposed to be familiar with the layout casting glances down too many hallways, unsure of which one they were supposed to turn down.

The prison full of screaming soon-to-be-corpses who thought they could escape their fates if they could find the right combination of words at the right volume was a good tip-off, too, too far from the throne room for normal hearing but perfectly clear thanks to Din's helmet.

He stood in the center of the throne room, still, waiting for Boba or Fennec to tell him why they'd wanted him here, why they hadn't told Peli or the Armorer whatever it was they needed him to know.

On one side of the room, Boba sat on his throne, legs spread and his entire affect so confident that Din took some mental notes should he ever need to seem more in charge that he felt.

Perched next to Boba was Fennec, one foot on the ground and the other curled up under her so she, too, could face Din. Fennec seemed amused while Boba...

...well, helmets and all, Din had no idea how to measure Boba.

“What do you want?” Din finally asked, “Why couldn't you do this like normal people?”

“Have you associated with a normal person a day in your life?” Fennec teased.

“Once,” Din's voice was hollow, “when I was still a little kid.”

Boba flinched just a tiny, tiny bit at that and Fennec leaned away from Boba, a barely conscious thing.

“We have something for you,” Boba told him, “Please,” Boba rose to his feet, “Come.”

–

_The thrill of shooting the bastard had lasted a whole of a few heartbeats._

_A coward, a shame, and yet a fitting legacy for Jabba's miniaturized Empire. Dead, now, so freshly dead he wouldn't have to get off the throne to move the body for a few hours yet – it was easier when they'd undergone rigor mortis, he'd found, less flopping about – his _keepers_ having tried to flee only to be taken out, too, and really, what kind of King had to remove dead bodies on day one?_

_Beside him, Fennec drank faster than he knew she could and still be able to keep sober. He couldn't blame her, not really; the past few major events in both their lives had been..._

_What had they been?_

_As if she sensed his mind heading off the tracks he'd tried to build for it, Fennec got up only to return and hand him a bottle of something stronger than she had._

–

The halls reminded Din of a trap. They turned at odd angles and had doors in the strangers places. 

Ahead of him, Boba and Fennec were silent.

–

_It could have been the start of anything, the collapse of the Republic. There was no better time to reinvent one's self, to steal someone's identity after dispatching the identity's original owner._

_Boba didn't know this, though. He knew a lot, he really did. He knew how to like and kill and lead. He knew how to become nothing more than a shadow only to spring back to life to take out a target._

_He'd learned these things from his father, at first, but when that wretched Jedi stole his father's life he had to turn to other teachers, ones far more ruthless and far less able to care about a child among their ranks. The moment he'd taken his father's armor and ship, he'd become an adult in the eyes of the underworld._

_And the problem with being a part of the galaxy's underworld was nobody explained these things to you._

_Boba took into consideration what he knew: the Jedi had fallen; the people who wore his face had quite suddenly sided with the Empire; the order of the universe was in shambles._

_So he gravitated towards the Empire, the ones who brought the Jedi to their knees._

_Instead of hiding, he aimed himself right at the leader, this fallen Jedi who called himself Lord Vader – or Darth Vader, sometimes – worked his way through the ranks, stole faux apprenticeships from his betters wearing the mask of partnership._

_He'd gotten there, younger but smarter and faster and more reliable than any bounty hunter in the universe. He was his father's legacy, and he knew his father would be proud of him._

–

Din wondered what it was like to want to be King. It was a dangerous thought, he knew that.

He would have no Palace, no throne. All of that had been stolen from his people, systemically nearly completely wiped from the galaxy, the stragglers scattered.

What was left for Din to rule, really, should he actually want to do so? A planet as barren as Tatooine with no safe mines left?

–

_Fennec was on the roof._

_She could have been inside, really; Boba was no more at risk on his own than he was with her next to him. The man was a weapon, every inch of him._

_The more the universe stripped from him, she'd decided, the more dangerous he'd become._

_He'd taken to going through the abandoned Palace rooms at night, turning them inside-out like he was looking for something._

_Boba wasn't that obvious, though. He knew better – far better – than most that nothing was ever a secret._

_Nothing._

_But still, he was restless and destructive and would not acknowledge what it was that drove him to these sleepless nights._

_He had found useful things, yes, sometimes paused his search on those items, slept by them and trusted Fennec to find him come morning._

_She owed him her life, yes, but it was more than that; Boba was **different** in ways she found absolutely fascinating. A life as his debtor would be a storied one, maybe even worth generations to come telling stories to their descendants._

_He'd found guns and everything that the guns needed, an absurd amount of rations – both Republic and Imperial – spices, more types of alcohol than Fennec had ever seen._

_He'd also found bodies, long dead, left to rot as if to tell the dead they meant nothing. He'd burned those, the smoke floating into the hallway, choking everyone, the smell horrific._

_They'd ground the bones that the fires left behind and tossed them out to the sands, made them a part of the planet._

_The palace seemed endless, so many doors and rooms and cells, entire spaces a large family could live in comfortably hidden away behind entrances that looked like walls or floors or, in the case of one particularly memorable series of rooms, only accessible through the ventilation system._

_She had, admittedly, taken the better part of the day to find Boba in that one; he was surprisingly spry and, if the size of the shafts were any judge, very flexible and also not at all claustrophobic._

_Still, Boba seemed to be less frantic when she stood watch on the roof, his personal guard watching his could-be Kingdom, had the sands anything to offer but ruin._

–

Din was a King of Ruins, he realized as he rounded a corner too sharply and thunked against the wall with his shoulder.

Fennec barely suppressed a snort of laughter.

–

_He'd missed quite a lot while he was being digested._

_The funny thing about acid was that is it didn't take much to do damage. Sure, the Sarlacc's stomach acid was weak, but that didn't prevent ribbons of Boba's skin from being seared, the tentacles wrapping around him, pinning him in place._

_How exactly he'd freed himself was lost to him; all that mattered was that he was a fighter and a _survivor._ If losing his father and watching hundreds fall around him while he held his father's still-filled helmet to his forehead for one last kiss didn't break him, nothing would._

_It wasn't until he was mostly healed, able to wander the deserts on his own, hunt and collect water and, on some occasions, bunk with a group of Tuskens for a while that he heard the fallen Jedi he'd strived for so long to serve was there when his father had died, hell, had **benefited** from his father's death._

_He heard it in passing, at a bar in Mos Eisley, wrapped in black cloth and obscured by the atmosphere of the place, but it was a blow worse than the Sarlacc._

_In Mos Eisley that night, a man who'd once been the greatest bounty hunter in the galaxy fell to his knees in an empty alleyway and retched._

–

Boba had slowed his pace and Fennec and Din had fallen in line.

This was **his Palace** and they knew it.

–

_Accidents were a part of his life, it seemed._

_This latest accident was stumbling on a dying woman in the Dune Seas._

_She'd been shot, left for dead. She had been – no, still was, she still drew breath – she **was** a hunter like him._

_No hunter deserved to go out like this._

_He carried her to the nearest abandoned house he knew of. There were so many moisture farms that didn't prosper and were left to rot._

_Except you don't rot in the desert, or at least stone does not rot in the desert. It just gets slowly chipped away at until it's a part of the place._

_This one was fairly recently abandoned, the exterior damage minimal and only one window broken. They'd left their belongings behind – he did favor this house, if he was to be anything resembling honest with himself – so he laid her on the bed and cut her clothes away so he could see what the damage was._

_She was too weak to move, too weak to speak. Where there should have been a scream as he cauterized the wound, there was only a hiss so quiet he almost missed it._

_He stabilized her enough to get her to the Slave I. From there, he took her to actual medics, ones he knew wouldn't ask questions, wouldn't run their chain codes._

_She'd emerged mostly human, still, the wounded parts replaced with machines because there was no way to revive the tissue he'd cauterized without risking more damage._

_He'd saved her life, they told him, and he'd asked himself at what cost._

_Her name was Fennec – she told him as soon as she had the strength to speak – and she'd been a coward when she was captured, tried to trade a child's life for her own._

_She told him of life as a bounty hunter under the Empire without a patron like Boba had had in Vader and Jabba alike. It was wild, almost lawless. Cruelty was encourage and things like mercy and negotiations were considered weaknesses._

_When the Empire fell and the New Republic rose, they'd tried to cull the more violent hunters like it would make them look better. Boba didn't follow the logic, and judging by Fennec's small laugh when he said as much, neither did she._

_Once the medics cleaner her to leave, she'd asked him how the debt should be settled. When **stay by my side and act as an extension of me** came out of his mouth, he could have slapped himself. One of the last things he needed or wanted was someone else to look after._

_And oh, no, he realized he'd become the kind of man to **look after people.**_

_They left the medics together, Fennec standing tall and proud like she hadn't just nearly died with no one around to witness it._

–

“Here,” Boba said as he stopped suddenly. Din nearly crashed into Fennec, who stopped just as abruptly.

The door was like any other, but Din wasn't here to be contrary, so he waited to see what was inside.

–

_They'd been in the Palace maybe three months when Boba stopped tearing the place apart at night._

_He said nothing of what changed and it took Fennec near a week to ask, but when she did he simply got up and started walking._

_So she followed._

_He came to a stop at a door that was just that – a door. It opened to a small, plain room with the absolute barest amenities: a few rugs stacked to make a low pallet bed, a pot in place of a vac tube, no screens, no buttons, no indication it was connected to the rest of the Palace at all._

_And then Boba did **something** to the doorframe she'd missed and the entire back wall came down._

_“Oh,” Fennec breathed, “Oh, that's...”_

_“Mmhmm,” Boba nodded, “That's fit for a a King.”_

–

Boba was **not** fidgeting as the door whined open, too slow and probably in need to repair. 

This just-

What was about to happen--

What was about to happen had managed to reignite the spark of hope that, maybe before his death, he could walk the path of the Creed like his father.

–

_He wouldn't have actually had Fennec shoot the kid._

_It was a good trick, though, one that froze this strange Mandalorian in his tracks. He'd wounded **relieved** to know Fennec was alive. Boba wondered if this stranger knew it was Fennec who'd given up the information about the child in a bid to spare herself._

_He doubted it._

_Fennec had been hesitant about following Boba's armor – because, really, he **was** far more interested in the armor than the kid or the other ma – but she'd gone, stayed by his side, followed his orders. _

_He could see it in her face, though, the way she hesitated. Her eyes were constantly focused on something just beyond her field of vision, like if she stared down the future she'd be there and ready to fight misfortune to keep her place in the universe._

_When they'd failed to protect the child, when Boba had to tell Fennec the Empire was still there and also right on top of them, Boba knew he didn't have to ask Fennec if their duties were fulfilled._

_They were going to help this stranger with no name get his son back._

_Being a child who's found themselves suddenly without their father was a wounding thing, Boba knew, and while he may have lost his ability to claim he was mandokarla while working for the very people who killed his father, he was **not** seeing another child get torn apart by the inherent cruelty of the universe._

–

The room struck Din as the sort of place someone went when they felt the responsibility of having a soul became too heavy. There were no distractions here, just cool clay walls and floor and what was likely a bed made of rugs and blankets.

It did not seem the sort of thing worth indirectly calling Din to them. He shook his head and started to turn around but Fennec grabbed his wrist and said, “Wait.”

–

_His first night actually sleeping in the Palace was hell._

_He tossed and turned, unable to quiet mind or body enough to sleep until damn near the first sun's rise._

_When he'd finally gotten to sleep, it was nightmares. Well, no, it was a single nightmare where he was just a few hundred paces out and back in the pit, stripped naked by that monster, screaming so much his throat **bled**._

_Every time he woke up from one of those Fennec was there, standing silently the the doorway, clutching her gun. She made herself a shield between whatever Boba's mind was doing to him and the rest of the world._

_The subsequent nights were not any easier. Every now and again the nightmare would change. Sometimes it was **him** chained to the throne's platform, stripped so close to naked that a strong wind would leave him completely exposed. Others **he** was the one coming out of a carbonite freeze, blind and disoriented but there was never anyone waiting for him._

_And every night, Fennec was there, guarding._

_He had no idea where or how she got her sleep._

–

The back wall gave way, slid into nothingness. When the contents of the hidden room came into view Din could have **wept.**

–

_Boba wasn't entirely sure leaving Din – the strange Mandalorian's name was apparently Din – with two Mandalorians who seemed ready to turn him into a pariah for how he was mourning his son's absence._

_He **was** sure, however, that he shouldn't leave the Palace unattended for long when he'd **just** assassinated the last guy to sit on the throne._

_He was sure about the other two, though, the Marshal with all the scars and instincts of someone who'd not only earned their place but also understood its weight._

_That was why he hadn't taken his armor back from the Marshal, after all: the man had his people to protect, and Boba had nothing._

_Once his armor was off the Marshal and on the stranger's speeder, however, that was when Boba had given chase._

_So, yes, he felt better knowing the Marshal was there with Din._

_The mechanic, too, though Boba hadn't so much as given her a second glace once he'd registered her existence years upon years ago. She seemed a nobody, a living extension of a trade craft in a galaxy drowning in people like her._

_Now that he'd seen her in action, though, seen how **fearless** she was and how quick she was to place herself in the middle of something despite being the least armed in whatever incident was playing out, well._

_He'd remember her._

–

Din tried to take a step forward but instead sank to his knees. He took off his helmet, and **did** weep openly.

“A gift for a King,” Boba told him, “for the new Mand'alor.”

And, oh, how Din would wave the banner of Mand'alor if it meant getting the entire room full of Beskar bars back to his covert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Linear Time? Never heard of 'er.
> 
> Hooboi did I go heavy on the imagery on this one.
> 
> Fennec is a good person, but she might kill you for telling her that.


	22. To the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They still have a lot to talk about, but first Din needs to get his head back in order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What like we're going right to the action? Wars are built on relationships and ideals; the weapons are accessories
> 
> Please know that my initial summary for this chapter was: Boba explains why he doesn't call himself a Mandalorian; Din's got all sorts of feelings; Fennec's taking a shot every time one of them doubts their abilities

Din had wept, openly, until he'd started dry heaving with sharp breaths that managed to burn his lungs and feel like he wasn't getting any air at the same time. He'd never cried like that before, only once had anything hit him that hard in a single heartbeat, and the first time it happened he'd told himself he needed to keep himself together for Grogu.

When the heaving started, Boba knelt down in front of him, took off his own helmet and asked Din if he could do the same for him. Din nodded and Boba removed his helmet gently, slowly. He pressed their foreheads together and told Din to match his breathing.

He grabbed one of Din's hands with both of his, covered it, _held it._

Boba took slow, steady breaths and Din struggled at first to match them but Boba kept telling him to focus.

“You've done this before?” Din asked when he could manage words again.

“I was on the other side of it,” Boba answered honestly.

Behind Din, Fennec stood guard, feet planted firmly and her gun held in both hands, ready to draw and fire in less than a span of a heartbeat should someone show up and try to make Din's panic attack worse.

“It's a lot,” Din swallowed, saliva too thick, throat too narrow and it _hurt_ , “It's...it's a lot.”

“I'm sorry,” Boba told him.

“For what?” Din asked.

“I hadn't considered,” Boba paused, then repeated, “I hadn't considered.”

They knelt there for a while, Din struggling to get his breathing to level out while Boba grounded him.

A kindness, Fennec noted, and one that fools who sought power too great for them to handle would view as a weakness at that.

Boba's kindness was a dangerous thing – akin to posting a guard on someone at its most mild, a weapon at its most fierce and right now, knelt down in front of Din like that, his trust in Fennec to keep them both safe...that kindness was a war against Boba's own shadows.

When Din was able to stand without his legs feeling like they might collapse under him again, they shut the Beskar back into its room and headed somewhere with food and, more importantly to Fennec, alcohol.

Whatever conversation Boba and Din were about to have was going to need alcohol.

–

The room they'd relocated to was beautiful: the lights were low, easy on the eyes and they looked like they were actual torches burning in their tinted glass holders; the air smelled of savory spices burning somewhere Din could not see. There were more seat cushions than there was blank floor space and no tables to be found.

It was clear the space had been chosen as a private one; even through his HUD, Din couldn't make out so much as a trace of anyone besides Boba – who apparently used this room frequently if the HUD's reports were anything to go by – and, far less frequently, Fennec. 

“Why Tatooine?” Din asked.

“It's what I know,” Boba answered him, “Where I was remade.”

Din hadn't asked about the scars; it seemed downright _wrong_ to ask after them, but Din knew they meant Boba was someone who could survive some horrific torture and come out the other side with his mind in one piece.

It meant everyone in the universe should be terrified of Boba.

“What about you?” Boba pulled him out of his own head before he got too deep, “Why Tatooine?”

“I needed something familiar,” it was close to the truth, “Someone familiar.”

Boba made a noise that said _I understand_ and Fennec produced a bottle of amber liquid that smelled of strong alcohol when she took the top off. She poured two small glasses of it, handed a glass to him and then a glass to Boba before she took a drink directly from the bottle.

“Come,” Boba gestured to Din, “Sit.”

Din did just that, picked spot in almost the center of the room.

“I did a lot of wrong,” Boba told him, “Things done for selfish reasons while I lied to myself,” Boba sighed, a heavy thing that sounded like it was ripping the edges of his throat, “I told myself what I was doing was continuing my father's legacy.”

“And this is your way of trying again,” Din looked around the room.

“If you had to put words to it,” Boba shrugged.

“What Jabba was running in the end wasn't just, you know, the Hutt empire,” Fennec added, “It was...”

Her eyes were unfocused all of the sudden, her head somewhere else entirely. Din knew that space, knew how sometimes you fell into that space with no warning.

The mind could be such a traitorous thing.

“An attempt at building something to rival the Empire itself,” Din finished for her, hoping she understood that _he_ understood, “I remember, towards the end. Even the Guild tried to avoid sending anyone to Tatooine if they could afford it.”

“A lot of hunters never came back,” Boba wasn't quite looked at Din, but it was a near thing, “and the ones who did tended to treat the Guild Code like it was optional.”

“So you're what, going to invite the Guild here? Set up a chapter?” Din asked.

“No,” Boba shook his head, “Any organization that condones killing children is one that needs to end.”

“I saw the chain bases, in the throne room,” Din took a sip of whatever Fennec had poured and it _burned_ going down, “This place used to run on slaves, didn't it?”

“Never again,” Boba was gripping hi glass so tight that Din feared it may shatter.

Din reached out and put a hand on Boba's, tried to get him to relax just a bit.

Boba told Din about his days as an assassin-for-hire under both Empire and Jabba, explained to him the sense of _loss_ it was to know everyone who wore his face was a slave in their own ways, conditioned to do nothing besides fight a war that had been mastermined by someone pulling strings on both side of the conflict.

Din listened, pried Boba's glass from him before one or both of them got hurt, and tried to imagine how he would even start navigating that if it lived in his head instead of Boba's. His story bounced around, no order of events save for the order they made it from Boba's head to his mouth.

“My father thought being selected as the clone template was the highest honor a Mandalorian could get,” Boba scoffed, “The greatest warrior in the galaxy, and one clone who was untempered that he called his son. And what did I get? Orphaned. I got orphaned.”

Din knew that feeling; he hadn't seen his parents' deaths happen, but he _had_ seen their bodies, what was left of them, bloodied and vacant. He told Boba this much, a clumsy attempt to show empathy. 

“What about you, Din?” Boba asked him, “You're Mand'alor now. What are you going to do with your power?”

“I,” Din realized he had no idea what he was going to do with it. He hadn't wanted the damned thing and had already tried to get rid of it once.

Din told Boba and Fennec about how he'd met Bo-Katan, how she'd tried to force him to leave his child behind so she could use his power in her quest to retake Mandalore.

“Wait,” Fennec interrupted, “she tried to make you leave your kid?”

“Yeah,” Din nodded, “I didn't stay, of course, but if I'd been in any other part of the ship...”

He hadn't really let himself realize how close he'd come to losing Grogu. 

“Din,” Fennec spoke like she was trying to calm a panicked animal, “maybe it's a good thing she doesn't have the darksaber.”

Din flinched like she'd shot him at close range.

“Someone who does not value the care and safety of children is not someone who can lead,” Boba added.

“Foundlings are our future,” Din echoed his Armorer's words. 

“Exactly,” Boba nodded, “I am not a father – never wanted to be – but I do know the value of a parent.”

“And how easy it is to ruin an entire species by taking the parents away,” Fennec shivered, “Through war or death or...a number of other ways, really.”

Fennec and Boba looked at Din like they were looking through him.

“Do you really want someone who would leave a child behind in charge of Mandalore's future?” Fennec was no longer speaking to him like he was a frightened animal; quite the opposite really. She was speaking to him, well.

She was speaking to him _**like he was Mand'alor.**_

Din felt like his head was _swimming,_ the weight of nearly giving his people's entire future so someone who cared nothing for a child – anyone's child – settling into his soul.

“Oh,” Din whispered, “What did I nearly do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Y'all I've spent the past three weeks dealing with one pet-related emergency after another with a max of like. Two days between emergencies. Five out of six of them have made it out of this ongoing shitshow alive.~~
> 
> ~~Send vodka.~~


	23. To Build a War Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peli, Fen, and Mayfeld go hunting for spare parts to build a proper war room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mayfeld is so, so out of his comfort zone here.
> 
> Fen and Peli are sheer feral energy.

He'd seen a lot through his life: The Empire, the bounties, the chop yard, all those timeless flashes in-between. Impossible things, almost, including surviving blowing up a mine. After meeting so many Mandalorians – after _surviving_ so many Mandalorians – he figured there was little left in the universe that could terrify him.

He'd figured wrong.

“So wait wait wait,” he said like either mechanic he was flying with would actually wait, “You're building...a war room?”

“The room's been built for years,” he could hear Fen's eye roll, “What we _need_ is equipment.”

Mayfeld pinched the bridge of his nose and forewent taking a deep breath.

“Do you know what you're looking for?” he tried a different question.

Peli seemed to hesitate before she asked, “Fen?”

“...Fen was also built some years ago,” Fen was less confident the second time, “Projectors, maps, databanks we don't have to connect to any external network-”

“So you're building you're own databank?” he asked.

“I,” Fen paused, “We are! Peli! We're building a databank!”

“Oh that will be so much easier than all the leaf punch-outs and fern sap!” Peli lit up like a kid who just got everything they asked for on their birthday or whatever people like Peli celebrated when they were kids.

“Easier than what?” Mayfeld blanched.

“It's exactly what it says on the holo,” Fen's helmet flicked up and down as if they'd looked at Mayfeld briefly before turning their attention back to Peli, “Okay, so, we need to build a databank...”

Mayfeld tuned them out as he realized he was working with a bunch of people who, in addition to being the most terrifying warriors in the galaxy, also planned their wars with leaves and sap.

–

A database, a comms system, and an ability to host both, to start.

Fen had to admit they hadn't even thought about the whole _place to host their networks_ , but they were a mechanic, not an engineer. 

They really, really needed an engineer.

Mayfeld had been able to point them towards a planet where they might be able to get the parts they needed, at the very least; it wasn't terribly far away, at least, and it wasn't guarded by people.

The corners of Peli's mouth had turned into the slightest grimace when Mayfeld noted the place wasn't guarded by people, so Fen made a note to ask Peli about it later.

Landing on the planet had been the easy part.

Getting back to the ship in time to get it back in the air so it wouldn't get scrapped was a different trick.

Peli had been the fastest of the three of them; holy crap she could _run._

And so, Fen had found themself with Mayfeld and a shorter-range comm link to the ship to make sure Peli could extract them quickly should an emergency arise.

Fen found Mayfeld to be...interesting. They'd seen few others with as much self-loathing as him who'd been able to keep functioning.

He was efficient; he seemed to want to get out of the scrap yard as quickly as possible. He was good with names of parts and assessing whether or not they could be restored. Fen guessed that, given enough time, Mayfeld could probably build a starship out of spare parts but he'd never get it off the ground because he didn't believe that he, personally, deserved anything that resembled an ending. 

No, he needed to have something that rolled on indefinitely. Endings terrified him, and that was why he didn't take much convincing when it came to joining them on a shapeless pseudo-mission.

“This here,” he kicked what looked like a half-rusted barrel with some switches on its side, “Assuming the ship it came from's buried nearby, assuming they just let it shatter or whatever happens to ships that find their end here, that'll get you a war room and then some.”

“Alright,” Fen looked at the pile of junk he'd indicated, “Buried under there, you say?”

“In theory,” Mayfeld more or less confirmed he thought what they needed was under there, “No idea how we're going to get all that dug out though.”

Fen looked up at the ship; Peli wasn't terribly far off and the ship? It was sturdy, meant to withstand battle, not a freighter.

“I have an idea,” Fen didn't elaborate on their idea before they told Mayfeld, “Peli's going to pick us up and then I recommend you hold on tight to whatever's nearest. Peli, we've got a bunch of shit to knock down!”

_“Be right there!”_ Peli told them.

“What the fuck?” Mayfeld was staring at Fen like he thought they'd lost their mind.

“Oh honey,” Fen laughed, “I lost my mind years ago.”

–

Peli had just clipped the tower of junk on her first pass like she was testing the process of demolition via battleship.

Mayfeld wasn't sure if hoped she was just testing or if she'd done this before.

“Alright,” Peli's voice carried to the back of the craft despite not using the comms system, “Round two, coming right up!”

Mayfeld was holding onto a strap that would normally secure crates for weapons and food; it was flimsy and threw him all over the place.

The quick glance he'd spared at Fen told him that they'd managed to stay upright while holding onto...exactly nothing.

Peli's second hit on the tower rattled the ship violently.

“Alright,” Peli swung the ship back around, “I'm going to touch down, all three of us are going to shove the equipment onto the ship, and leave before someone noticed we've redecorated.”

_Redecorated._

Mayfeld was starting to question if going with them was a good idea.

–

Peli was sitting on the floor of the ship, hands bloody and shaking. Her breathing was uneven but her eyes were clearer than they had any right to be.

“I'm okay,” she managed, “Is that everything?”

“Everything we've got time for, all secured,” Fen told her, “Mayfeld, can you fly?”

“Can I-” he stopped himself, “Yeah, I can fly.”

“Great, get it out of here,” Fen told him, “We've been spotted and I'm not feeling being taken in.”

Mayfeld clearly wasn't either, judging by how he ran for the cockpit.

“Peli,” Fen knelt down in front of Peli, “Peli, what happened?”

“Hands got caught between one of the pieces and the wall,” she managed, “It looks way worse than it is.”

“Shit,” Fen hissed, “Hang on, I've got stims.”

Fen left to get the stims and returned to find Peli already on her feet.

“Let me,” Fen said and Peli held out her hands. Fen did two quick injections – one in each hand – and pocketed the needles.

“Thanks,” Peli told them, “Alright, flying, Mayfeld, you good up there?”

“Don't really have a destination,” he called back, “but I can get us in the air and in a hyperspace lane no problem.”

Peli walked to the cockpit and sat in the copilot's chair to help Mayfeld get going faster.

“Peli, what are you doing?” Mayfeld asked her.

“Helping,” Peli said like it was obvious.

“Peli, you're-” Mayfeld tried to say _getting blood all over the place_ , but Peli cut him off.

“Yeah, yeah, it'll wash off,” Peli waved him away, “Fen, what are you doing back there?”

“Looking for my bacta spray,” Fen called back to Peli, “The stims will level you out but you still need bacta.”

Mayfeld shuddered; Peli was a soldier, he decided; she was a soldier who had no idea that's what they were, though. Passionate, unstoppable, and all but married to whatever her cause was.

Fen returned with a small spray canister and sprayed both Peli's hands while Peli kept working, the two of them a tangled mess that managed to hit Mayfeld in the face a few times, each apology sincere but not marking the end of the surprise strikes.

“Okay, okay,” Mayfeld said after one particularly hard hit to the nose, “Can we do that somewhere else?”

“Once we're in hyperspace,” Peli answered.

Peli was true to her word, at least; once they were in hyperspace, she stepped away from Mayfeld enough to let Fen spray her hands down.

“When you're done bleeding I've got a mini sonic that'll knock the dried blood off,” Fen told Peli, “You're right, not as bad as it looked, just a _lot_ of blood.”

“Accidents happen,” Peli shrugged, “Shocked the hell out of me at first but once that initial hit was gone it really wasn't so bad.”

“You're stubborn,” Fen informed her, “Good type of stubborn, though.”

“I'm from Tatooine,” Peli told them, “You have to be stubborn to survive that sandy hell.”

They stood there, Peli and Fen, for far too many moments before Mayfeld to felt like he was missing something.

“What now?” Mayfeld asked.

“Now,” Fen decided, “we pick an uninhabited planet to land on, search everything for trackers, and when we're sure we're clear we call the covert to see what's going on there.”

It sounded like a sensible enough plan, Mayfeld figured, and, really, what was he going to do, ask them to drop him back off at Morak?

No.

He hoped he didn't come to regret that decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peli: Act two, BEGINS!
> 
> Mayfeld: Oh no...


End file.
